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COUNSEL  UPON  THE 
READING  OF  BOOKS 

BY 

H.  MORSE   STEPHENS 

AGNES  REPPLIER 

ARTHUR  T.  HADLEY 

BRANDER  MATTHEWS 

BLISS  PERRY 

HAMILTON  WRIGHT  MABIE 

WITH    AX    INTRODUCTION   BY 

HENRY  VAN  DYKE 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

1900 


COPYRIGHT,  1900 

BY  THE  AMERICAN  SOCIETY  FOR  THE  EXTENSION 
OF  UNIVERSITY  TEACHING 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


NOTE 

The  six  papers  in  this  volume  are  based  upon  lectures 
arranged  by  the  American  Society  for  the  Extension  of 
University  Teaching,  and  delivered  in  Philadelphia  in 
the  winter  of  1898-99.  The  impulse  to  read  good  books 
that  has  grown  out  of  the  work  of  the  Society  in  Phila- 
delphia seemed  to  demand  the  suggestions  that  it  was 
the  purpose  of  these  lectures  to  offer  to  those  who  desire 
to  read  wisely. 


CONTENTS 

rum 

A  Preface  on  Reading  and  Books,  by  Henry 

VAN  Dyke 7 

History,  by  H.  Morse  Stephens 23 

Memoirs  and  Biographies,  by  Agnes  Repplier  95 
Sociology,  Economics,  and  Politics,  by  Arthur 

T.  Hadley 137 

The  Study  of  Fiction,  by  Brander  Matthews  173 

Poetry,  by  Bliss  Perry 213 

Essay  and   Criticism,   by   Hamilton  Wright 

Mabie 257 


A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND 
BOOKS 

BY  HENRY  VAN  DYKE 


A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND 
BOOKS 

Readers  existed  before  books  were  made. 

The  first  rude  writings  that  were  cut  on 
the  faces  of  smooth  rocks,  or  inscribed  on 
tablets  of  clay,  or  traced  on  bits  of  skin, 
implied  the  presence  of  people  in  the  world 
who  were  able  to  decipher  the  letters  and 
interpret  their  meaning.  As  the  number  of 
these  people  increased,  and  as  they  learned 
to  read  more  easily,  the  importance  of  writ- 
ing as  a  means  of  instructing  them  or  de- 
ceiving them,  of  enlightening  their  minds 
or  affecting  their  feehngs,  of  influencing 
them  in  one  way  or  another,  emerged  on  the 
surface  of  affairs  more  and  more  clearly : 
an  open  door  to  power,  or  to  usefulness, 
stood  before  those  who  were  ambitious  to 
rule,  or  willing  to  serve,  the  inner  life  of 
mankind. 

Because  there  were  readers  in  the  world, 
certain  men  became  authors.    The  Book  was 


10  A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND  BOOKS 

simply  the  author's  invention  to  make  his 
work  accessible,  portable,  preservable,  and 
so  more  powerful. 

Books,  then,  do  not  exist  for  their  own 
sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  people.  A  man 
may  compose  poems  or  construct  stories  for 
his  own  amusement ;  he  may  record  events 
or  describe  facts  for  his  own  discipUne ;  but 
when  he  puts  these  records,  these  verses, 
these  inventions  into  a  book,  —  clay-cylinder, 
papyrus  roll,  or  printed  volume,  —  and  sends 
it  out  into  the  world,  his  mind's  eye  is  fixed 
on  readers,  real  or  imaginary.  He  is  work- 
ing for  them;  and  from  them  he  gets  his 
pay,  —  money,  fame,  influence,  —  imaginary 
or  real. 

But  for  the  art  of  reading  there  never 
would  have  been  any  books.  The  wide  dif- 
fusion of  that  art  accounts  for  the  immense 
increase  in  the  quantity  of  books.  The  lack 
of  direction,  cultivation,  and  discrimination 
in  that  art  accounts  for  the  decline  in  the 
quality  of  books.  Like  readers,  like  authors. 
The  great  need  of  the  world  of  letters  is  the 
promotion  of  the  habit  of  reading  with  judg- 
ment, and  the  love  of  reading  with  taste. 

This,  it  may  be  taken  for  granted,  is  a 


A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND  BOOKS  11 

principal  object  of  the  foundation  of  socie- 
ties for  "  The  Extension  of  University 
Teaching."  It  is  not  supposed  by  any  in- 
telligent person  that  courses  of  popular  lec- 
tures can  take  the  place  of  a  regular  and 
thorough  academic  training.  But  it  is  sup- 
posed, and  with  good  reason,  that  men  and 
women  who  have  spent  their  lives  among 
books  can  tell  people,  in  a  brief  and  simple 
way,  something  that  it  may  be  for  their  ad- 
vantage to  hear,  —  something  about  the  best 
books  and  the  best  way  to  use  them. 

University  Extension  lectures  serve  a  pur- 
pose as  a  sort  of  portico  or  antechamber  to 
the  library.  Here  the  visitors  are  prepared 
to  become  readers.  Here  they  are  politely 
requested  to  lay  aside  the  outer  garments  of 
prejudice  and  fashion,  and  the  overshoes  of 
bigotry,  and  to  leave  the  canes  and  umbrellas 
of  curiosity  and  irreverence  behind  them. 
Here  they  are  told  something  about  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  books,  and  where  they  can 
find  what  they  wish,  and  where  they  would 
better  go  to  find  what  they  need.  The  whole 
purpose  of  such  an  antechamber  is  correc- 
tive, incentive,  preparatory.  It  is  valuable 
only  to  the  people  who  pass  through  it. 


12    A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND  BOOKS 

When  it  comes  to  making  a  book  out  of 
lectures  of  this  kind,  I  must  frankly  confess 
that  the  enterprise  has  its  disadvantages. 
It  adds  another  volume  to  shelves  which  are 
already  overcrowded.  It  necessarily  loses 
one  of  the  best  factors  in  the  deHvery  of  the 
lectures :  the  personality  of  the  speakers. 
However  much  books  may  do  for  us,  living 
teachers,  of  the  right  kind,  can  always  do 
more.  So  far  as  my  own  part  in  the  vol- 
ume is  concerned,  it  has  a  very  superfluous 
aspect,  —  a  preface  to  an  introduction,  a 
porch  to  a  portico. 

Yet  I  suppose  there  are  some  advantages 
in  the  publication  of  such  a  volume.  And  I 
am  sure  that  the  proper  line  to  be  followed 
by  the  person  who  has  to  write  the  preface 
is  to  point  out  these  advantages  as  clearly  as 
he  can. 

First  of  all,  then,  it  seems  to  me  a  matter 
of  some  interest  to  observe  that  the  lecturers 
look  at  the  subject  from  different  sides. 
The  difference  arises  not  merely  from  the 
fact  that  each  lecturer  has  a  distinct  and 
specific  theme.  It  is  a  difference  of  temper- 
ament, of  method,  of  the  point  of  view. 

Three  of  the  six  chapters  in  the  book  are 


A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND  BOOKS    13 

■written  from  the  scientific  point  of  view ; 
three  are  written  from  the  literary  point  of 
view.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  writers 
on  either  of  these  groups  are  out  of  sym- 
pathy with  the  writers  in  the  other  group. 
But  I  mean  that  they  approach  books  in  two 
diverse  ways.  The  writers  of  the  first  group, 
Professor  Stephens,  President  Hadley,  and 
Professor  Matthews,  deal  with  the  subject 
more  scientifically,  critically,  analytically. 
The  writers  of  the  second  group.  Miss  Rep- 
plier.  Professor  Perry,  and  Mr.  Mabie,  are 
inclined  to  value  books  more  as  works  of  art, 
and  to  treat  them  more  aesthetically,  vitally, 
sympathetically.  Professor  Stephens,  for 
instance,  holding  a  position  on  the  extreme 
left,  speaks  of  historical  books  principally 
as  a  means  of  acquiring  knowledge.  He 
warns  us  against  imagining  that  a  history  is 
true  because  it  is  interesting.  He  objects 
to  the  intrusion  of  the  personality  of  the 
historian  into  his  work.  He  thinks  little 
of  biographies  and  memoirs  as  historical 
material.  But  Miss  Repplier,  holding  a 
position  on  the  extreme  right,  is  very  fond 
of  biographies  and  memoirs  just  because  they 
are  so  full  of  personality.     She  would  have 


14    A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND  BOOKS 

US  read  them,  not  so  much  to  increase  and 
correct  our  knowledge  of  facts,  as  to  gain  a 
more  vivid  sense  of  human  character,  a  more 
graphic  picture  of  manners  and  morals. 

The  striking  difference  in  point  of  view 
among  -writers  should  indicate,  if  my  con- 
tention in  regard  to  the  influence  of  reading 
upon  writing  is  true,  an  equally  notable  dif- 
ference among  readers.  A  little  observation 
and  reflection  wiU  convince  us  that  such  a 
difference  actually  exists.  There  are  read- 
ers, and  readers.  For  purposes  of  conven- 
ience they  may  be  divided  into  three  classes. 

First,  there  is  the  "  simple  reader,"  —  the 
ordinary  book-consumer  of  commerce.  He 
reads  without  any  particular  purpose  or  in- 
tention, chiefly  in  order  to  occupy  his  spare 
time.  He  has  formed  the  habit  and  it 
pleases  him.  He  does  not  know  much  about 
literature,  but  he  says  he  knows  what  he 
likes.  All  is  fish  that  comes  to  his  net. 
Curiosity  and  fashion  play  a  large  part  in 
directing  his  reading.  He  is  an  easy  prey 
for  the  loud  advertising  bookseller.  He 
seldom  reads  a  book  the  second  time,  ex- 
cept when  he  forgets  that  he  has  read  it 
before.     For  a  reader  in  this  stage  of  evo- 


A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND  BOOKS    15 

lution  the  most  valuable  advice  (if,  indeed, 
any  counsel  may  be  effectual)  is  chiefly  of 
a  negative  character.  Do  not  read  vulgar 
books,  silly  books,  morbid  books.  Do  not 
read  books  that  are  written  in  bad  EngHsh. 
Do  not  read  books  simply  because  other 
people  are  reading  them.  Do  not  read  more 
than  five  new  books  to  one  old  one. 

Next  comes  the  "  intelHgent  reader,"  — 
the  person  who  wants  to  know,  and  to  whom 
books  are  valuable  chiefly  for  the  accuracy 
of  the  information  which  they  convey.  He 
reads  with  the  definite  purpose  of  increas- 
ing his  acquaintance  with  facts.  Memory 
is  his  most  valuable  faculty.  He  is  ardent 
in  the  following  of  certain  lines  of  investi- 
gation ;  he  is  apt  to  have  a  specialty,  and 
to  think  highly  of  its  importance.  He  is 
incHned  to  take  notes  and  to  make  analyses. 
This  particular  reader  is  the  one  to  whom 
lists  of  books  and  courses  of  reading  are 
most  useful.  Miss  Repplier  makes  light  of 
them  as  "  Cook's  Tours  in  Literature,"  but 
the  reader  whose  main  interest  is  the  in- 
crease of  knowledge  is  often  very  glad  to 
be  "  personally  conducted  "  through  a  new 
region  of  books. 


16    A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND  BOOKS 

Last  comes  the  "  gentle  reader "  —  the 
person  who  wants  to  grow,  and  who  turns 
to  books  as  a  means  of  purifying  his  tastes, 
deepening  his  feelings,  broadening  his  sym- 
pathies, and  enhancing  his  joy  in  life.  Lit- 
erature he  loves  because  it  is  the  most  humane 
of  the  arts.  Its  forms  and  processes  interest 
him  as  expressions  of  the  human  striving 
towards  clearness  of  thought,  purity  of  emo- 
tion, and  harmony  of  action  with  the  ideal. 
The  culture  of  a  finer,  fuller  manhood  is 
what  this  reader  seeks.  He  is  looking  for 
the  books  in  which  the  inner  meanings  of 
nature  and  life  are  translated  into  language 
of  distinction  and  charm,  touched  with  the 
human  personality  of  the  author,  and  em- 
bodied in  forms  of  permanent  interest  and 
power.  This  is  literature.  And  the  reader 
who  sets  his  affections  on  these  things  enters 
the  world  of  books  as  one  made  free  of  a 
city  of  wonders,  a  garden  of  fair  delights. 
He  reads  not  from  a  sense  of  duty,  not  from 
a  constraint  of  fashion,  not  from  an  ambition 
of  learning,  but  from  a  thirst  of  pleasure  ; 
because  he  feels  that  pleasure  of  the  highest 
kind,  —  a  real  joy  in  the  perception  of  things 
lucid,  luminous,  symmetrical,  musical,  sincere, 


A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND  BOOKS  17 

passionate,  and  profound,  —  such  pleasure 
restores  the  heart  and  quickens  it,  makes  it 
stronger  to  endure  the  ills  of  life  and  more 
fertile  in  all  good  fruits  of  cheerfulness, 
courage,  and  love.  This  reader  for  vital  plea- 
sure has  less  need  of  maps  and  directories, 
rules  and  instructions,  than  of  companion- 
ship. A  criticism  that  will  go  with  him  in 
his  reading,  and  open  up  new  meaning  in 
familiar  things,  and  touch  the  secrets  of 
beauty  and  power,  and  reveal  the  hidden  re- 
lations of  literature  to  Hfe,  and  help  him  to 
see  the  reasonableness  of  every  true  grace 
of  style,  the  sincerity  of  every  real  force  of 
passion,  —  a  criticism  that  penetrates,  illumi- 
nates, and  appreciates,  making  the  eyes 
clearer  and  the  heart  more  sensitive  to  per- 
ceive the  living  spirit  in  good  books,  —  that 
is  the  companionship  which  will  be  most 
helpful,  and  most  grateful  to  the  gentle 
reader. 

Why,  then,  should  we  be  amazed  or 
troubled  by  the  contrast  in  point  of  view 
among  the  writers  of  this  volume?  It  is 
simply  a  correspondence  or  a  concession  to  a 
diversity  among  readers.  It  is  the  result  of 
an  inevitable  law,  a  clear  evidence  of  design 


18    A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND  BOOKS 

in  nature,  a  kind  provision  of  Providence, 
an  adaptation  o£  the  supply  to  the  demand 
even  in  University  Extension  literature. 
Whichever  class  of  readers  we  may  belong 
to  (and  I,  for  one,  decline  to  commit  myself) 
■we  can  all  find  something  here  to  please  and 
profit  us.  The  intelligent  (but  not  ungentle) 
reader  can  enjoy  the  wise  instruction  of  Pro- 
fessors Stephens,  Hadley,  and  Matthews. 
The  gentle  (but  not  unintelligent)  reader  can 
delight  in  the  suggestive  interpretations  of 
Miss  Repplier,  Professor  Perry  and  Mr. 
Mabie.  All  can  unite  in  prayers  for  the 
simple  reader,  that  he  may  not  spend  his  last 
dollar  for  the  4:35,999th  copy  of  the  newest 
popular  book,  but  expend  his  money  more 
■wisely  in  the  purchase  of  — 

What?  Here  is  a  real  difficulty.  And 
here  also  is  the  second  point  of  interest  that 
strikes  me  in  this  collection  of  lectures.  The 
lecturers  differ  not  only  in  their  point  of 
■view,  but  also  in  their  judgment  of  particular 
books  and  authors.  And  this  second  differ- 
ence runs  through  the  groups  and  splits  them 
up.  For  example.  Professor  Matthews  speaks 
scornfully  of  the  historical  novel  as  a  "  bas- 
tard hybrid  of  fact  and  fancy."    But  Profes- 


A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND  BOOKS    19 

sor  Stephens  values  it  highly  and  commends 
it  strongly.  He  makes  light,  however,  of 
the  philosophy  of  history.  But  President 
Hadley  praises  it  and  counsels  us  to  read  the 
philosophical  historians. 

Such  variety  of  opinions  among  guides 
and  instructors  seems  to  me  a  most  cheerful 
and  encouraging  fact.  Doubtless  each  one 
of  these  learned  judges  has  a  good  reason  to 
give  for  his  preferences.  Doubtless  there 
are  treasures  to  be  found  in  various  regions 
of  literature,  —  not  a  solitary  pot  of  gold 
hidden  in  a  single  field,  and  a  terrible  chance 
that  we  may  not  happen  to  buy  the  right 
lot,  —  but  veins  of  rich  ore  running  through 
all  the  rocks,  and  placers  in  all  the  gravel 
beds.  Doubtless  we  may  follow  any  one  of 
a  half  dozen  roads  and  not  go  far  astray 
after  all. 

Let  us  not  take  our  reading  too  anxiously, 
too  strenuously.  There  are  more  than  a  hun- 
dred good  books  in  the  world.  The  best 
hundred  for  you  may  not  be  the  best  hun- 
dred for  me.  We  ought  to  be  satisfied  if  we 
get  something  thoroughly  good,  even  though 
it  be  not  absolutely  and  unquestionably  the 
best  in  the  world.     The  habit  of  worrying 


20  A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND  BOOKS 

about  the  books  that  we  have  not  read  de- 
stroys the  pleasure  and  diminishes  the  profit 
of  those  that  we  are  reading.  Be  serious, 
earnest,  sincere  in  your  choice  of  books,  and 
then  put  your  trust  in  Providence  and  read 
with  an  easy  mind. 

Any  author  who  has  kept  the  affection, 
interest  and  confidence  of  thoughtful,  honest 
readers  through  at  least  one  generation  is 
fairly  sure  to  have  something  in  him  that  is 
worth  reading. 

Let  us  keep  out  of  provincialism  in  litera- 
ture, —  even  that  which  comes  from  Athens. 

You  like  Tolstoi  and  George  Eliot ;  I  like 
Scott  and  Thackeray.  You  like  Byron  and 
Shelley ;  I  like  Wordsworth  and  Tennyson. 
You  admire  the  method  of  Stubbs  and  Sei- 
gnobos;  I  still  find  pleasure  in  Macaulay 
and  Carlyle.  Well,  probably  neither  of  us 
is  altogether  wasting  time.  Jordan  is  a 
good  river.  But  there  is  also  plenty  of  water 
in  the  streams  of  Abana  and  Pharpar. 

There  is  a  large  number  of  courses  of 
reading  that  any  one  of  us  might  take  with 
profit.  It  is  foolish  to  stand  too  long  hesi- 
tating at  the  cross-roads.  Choose  your  course 
with  open  eyes  and  follow  it  with  a  cheerful 


A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND  BOOKS    21 

heart.  And  take  with  you  a  few  plain 
maxims  drawn  from  experience. 

Read  the  preface  first.  It  was  probably 
written  last.  But  the  author  put  it  at  the 
beginning  because  he  wanted  to  say  some- 
thing particular  to  you  before  you  entered 
the  book.     Go  in  through  the  front  door. 

Read  plenty  of  books  about  people  and 
things,  but  not  too  many  books  about  books. 
Literature  is  not  to  be  taken  in  emulsion. 
The  only  way  to  know  a  great  author  is  to 
read  his  works  for  yourself.  That  will  give 
you  knowledge  at  first-hand. 

Read  one  book  at  a  time,  but  never  one 
book  alone.  Well-born  books  always  have 
relatives.  Follow  them  up.  Learn  some- 
thing about  the  family  if  you  want  to  under- 
stand the  individual.  If  you  have  been  read- 
ing the  "  Idylls  of  the  King  "  go  back  to  Sir 
Thomas  Malory :  if  you  have  been  keeping 
company  with  Stevenson,  travel  for  a  while 
with  Scott,  Dumas,  and  Defoe. 

Read  the  old  books,  —  those  that  have 
stood  the  test  of  time.  Read  them  slowly, 
carefully,  thoroughly.  They  will  help  you 
to  discriminate  among  the  new  ones. 

Read  no  book  with  which  the  author  has 


22    A  PREFACE  ON  READING  AND  BOOKS 

not  taken  pains  enough  to  write  it  in  a  clean, 
sound,  lucid  style.  Life  is  short.  If  he 
thought  so  little  of  his  work  that  he  left  it 
in  the  rough,  it  is  not  likely  to  be  worth 
your  pains  in  reading  it. 

Bead  over  again  the  ten  best  books  that 
you  have  already  read.  The  result  of  this 
experiment  will  test  your  taste,  measure  your 
advance,  and  fit  you  for  progress  in  the  art 
of  reading. 


HISTORY 

BY  H.  MORSE  STEPHENS 


REFERENCES 

There  is  no  adequate  history  of  historiography. 

The  only  book  which  gives  a  satisfactory  account  of  the  mod- 
em conception  of  History  and  of  the  scientific  method  of  histor- 
ical research  is  C.  V.  Langlois'  and  C.  Seignobos'  "  Introduction 
to  the  Study  of  History,"  translated  by  G.  G.  Berry,  New  York, 
1898. 

For  the  older  conception  of  History  see  Macaulay,  "  Essay  on 
History,"  first  published  in  the  "  Edinburgh  Review,"  May,  1828, 
and  reprinted  in  all  editions  of  his  Essays.  His  attitude  is 
shown  by  the  remarks  — "  History  begins  in  novel  and  ends  in 
essay."  "  History  is  a  compound  of  poetry  and  philosophy." 
"  Facts  are  the  mere  dross  of  History." 

"  The  Methods  of  Historical  Study,"  and  "  The  Unity  of  His- 
tory," by  E.  A.  Freeman,  are  stimulating  works,  but  too  vague 
to  be  of  great  value. 

The  chief  opponent  of  the  modem  conception  of  History  is 
Frederic  Harrison,  whose  criticisms  have  been  collected  in  his 
"  The  Meaning  of  History,"  except  the  latest,  which  appeared  in 
the  issues  of  "  The  Nineteenth  Century  "  for  September  and 
November,  1898. 


HISTORY 

A  SERIES  of  lectures  on  "Books  and  Read- 
ing "  would  be  incomplete  without  a  lecture 
upon  History,  for  History  is  still  often  re- 
garded simply  as  a  branch  of  literature.  The 
great  changes  in  the  aims  of  the  historian, 
which  have  taken  his  work  out  of  the  realms 
of  poetry,  fiction,  and  philosophy,  and  the 
great  changes  in  the  methods  of  the  histo- 
rian, wrought  by  the  adoption  of  the  meth- 
ods of  scientific  investigation,  are  recognized 
indeed  within  a  limited  circle  of  readers,  but 
are  still  unknown  even  to  a  majority  of  edu- 
cated persons.  There  are  still  many  readers 
who  regard  impartiality  of  statement  and 
diligence  in  investigation  as  of  less  impor- 
tance in  a  professed  historical  work  than 
elegance  of  style  or  novelty  of  statement, 
and  who  allow  themselves  to  be  confused 
into  believing  the  statements  of  writers  of 
the  pre-scientific  period  because  their  works 
bear  the  title  of  histories.     They  do  not  dis- 


26  HISTORY 

tinguisli  between  the  famous  histories,  which 
are  great  monuments  of  literature  but  not 
faithful  accounts  of  what  happened  in  the 
past,  and  the  works  of  modern  historians, 
who  describe  with  more  accurate  perspective 
and  more  detailed  knowledge  the  actual 
course  of  events.  They  regard  the  works  of 
Thomas  Carlyle,  for  instance,  as  containing 
a  true  account  of  historical  happenings  in- 
stead of  the  suggestive  and  eloquent  com- 
ments of  a  great  thinker  upon  historical 
matters.  Bad  history  is  often  good  litera- 
ture, and  educated  men  will  ever  continue 
to  read  and  to  admire  the  great  works  of 
literature  which  are  styled  histories,  but  it  is 
time  that  they  should  read  them  as  literature 
and  not  as  books  supposed  to  contain  histori- 
cal information.  I  propose  in  this  lecture 
to  examine  the  modern  school  of  historical 
writing,  and  to  point  out  in  what  ways 
the  modern  conception  of  history  differs 
from  that  held  in  past  days,  and  what  is 
meant  by  scientific  investigation  in  historical 
matters,  with  the  idea  of  aiding  readers  to 
understand  when  they  study  books  labeled 
history,  whether  they  are  likely  to  obtain 
from  them   accurate   historical   information 


HISTORY  27 

or  pleasant  food  for  thought  or  imagination. 
It  is  not  necessarily  the  great  man  of  letters 
or  the  great  thinker  who  writes  the  best  his- 
tory ;  and  the  reverse  of  this  statement  ob- 
viously follows,  that  it  is  not  necessarily  the 
great  historian  who  produces  the  best  literary 
or  philosophical  works  on  historical  subjects. 
The  connection  between  history  and  lit- 
erature is  as  old  as  history  and  as  old  as 
literature,  since  history  is  the  narration  of 
the  events  of  the  past  and  literature  is  the 
written  expression  of  ideas.  The  earliest 
form  of  history  and  the  earliest  form  of  lit- 
erature is  to  be  found  in  the  great  epic 
poems,  whether  worked  up  or  not  from  tri- 
bal songs  or  folk  traditions,  which  express 
the  earliest  national  consciousness  of  all  races 
which  have  played  a  part  in  this  world, 
whether  they  be  the  Greeks  in  the  Ho- 
meric poems,  or  the  Norsemen  in  the  Edda, 
or  the  people  of  Hindustan  in  the  Ramayana 
and  the  Mahabharata.  Whatever  may  be 
the  amount  of  historic  truth,  overlaid  with 
mythology  and  exaggerated  by  childish  im- 
agination, which  is  embalmed  in  the  primi- 
tive epics,  it  is  the  fact  that  these  poems 
pretend  at  least  to  deal,  despite  the  inter- 


28  HISTORY 

vention  of  gods  and  demons,  with  the  actual 
affairs  of  men,  that  gives  them  their  place 
as  the  earliest  forms  of  historical  composi- 
tion. When  the  practice  of  writing  led  to 
the  discarding  of  the  poetic  form  and  the 
use  of  prose,  most  races  continued  to  give 
their  early  prose  histories  the  same  imagina- 
tive and  mythological  complexion  that  their 
primitive  poems  had  worn.  It  was  so  with 
the  Norsemen  in  the  Sagas  and  with  the 
Hindus ;  but  in  the  literature  of  that  most 
gifted  race  which  has  given  to  the  Western 
world  its  conceptions  of  literature  as  well  as 
of  art,  a  change  of  attitude  is  to  be  observed 
when  the  prose  composition  of  history  came 
into  vogue.  When  Herodotus,  the  Father 
of  History,  read  his  famous  work  to  the 
Hellenic  assemblage  at  the  Olympian  games, 
it  was  found  that  he  had  taken  as  his  sub- 
ject the  tale  of  the  great  struggle  between 
East  and  West,  between  Europe  and  Asia, 
between  the  Greeks  and  the  Persian  Empire. 
Credulous  as  Herodotus  shows  himself  in 
his  description  of  the  Oriental  world  which 
had  failed  to  crush  the  Greeks,  and  naively 
as  he  relates  deeds  of  superhuman  charac- 
ter, there  is  yet  a  wide  difference  between 


HISTORY  29 

the  mixture  of  mytliology  and  history  in  the 
Homeric  poems  and  the  coherent  treatment 
of  a  great  crisis  in  the  history  of  Herodotus. 
But  the  flavor  of  the  poetic  age  continued, 
and  Herodotus  was  clearly  not  so  much 
concerned  with  narrating  truly  the  events 
of  the  struggle  he  described  as  with  exalt- 
ing the  importance  of  the  achievements  of 
the  Greeks.  Thucydides,  next  in  order,  the 
great  Athenian  historian,  in  his  story  of  the 
Peloponnesian  War  was  more  impressed  with 
the  idea  of  explaining  than  simply  narrat- 
ing, and  with  him  narration  of  what  really 
happened  was  not  so  much  the  supreme  aim 
as  the  explanation  of  why  things  happened 
as  they  did.  It  is  worthy  of  note  that  while 
the  annahsts'  dry  statements  of  facts  as  they 
happened  perished,  the  works  of  Herodotus 
and  Thucydides,  as  great  works  of  literature, 
survived.  It  was  not  so  much  the  actual 
knowledge  of  how  things  happened  that 
appealed  to  the  cultured  Greeks  as  the  exal- 
tation of  race  pride  in  the  pages  of  Hero- 
dotus and  the  philosophical  explanation  of 
Sparta's  triumph  and  Athens'  failure  in  the 
pages  of  Thucydides.  Events  had  to  he 
narrated  in  set  literary  form,  not  for  their 


30  HISTORY 

own  sake,  but  with  some  ulterior  end  in  view, 
to  satisfy  the  Greek  conception  of  history, 
and  the  Muse  of  History,  Clio,  took  her 
place  with  the  other  Muses  as  standing  for  a 
form  of  artistic  creation.  Aristotle,  great- 
est of  the  Greeks,  when  he  undertook  to 
expound  political  ideas,  appealed  to  history 
for  his  illustrations,  and  showed  throughout 
the  "  Politics  "  some  knowledge  of  the  con- 
stitutions of  both  Greek  and  non-Greek 
states ;  but  his  references  display  a  readiness 
to  accept  the  traditional  accounts  without 
examining  their  accuracy,  and  he  evidently 
regarded  his  historical  illustrations  as  sub- 
sidiary to  his  political  conclusions.  Plu- 
tarch in  his  "  Lives "  did  not  pretend  to 
write  history ;  yet  it  is  worth  noting  that 
neither  did  he  pretend  to  write  biography, 
in  the  sense  of  giving  a  true  account  of  the 
lives  of  his  heroes,  but  that  he  wrote  studies 
of  great  men's  lives  in  order  to  inspire 
respect  and  admiration  for  certain  ethical 
virtues  in  the  minds  of  his  readers. 

As  soon  as  Roman  literature  developed, 
the  sweeping  influence  of  Greek  ideas 
showed  itself  upon  the  Latin  writers.  But 
a  new  contribution  of  great  significance  was 


HISTORY  31 

made  to  these  ideas.  History  was  written 
by  the  Latin  historians  not  so  much  for  the 
promotion  of  racial  pride,  or  even  for  the 
illustration  of  political  or  ethical  principles, 
as  for  the  stimulation  of  national  patriotism. 
Herodotus,  indeed,  made  the  climax  of  his 
history  the  successful  struggle  of  Hellenic 
against  Asiatic  civilization ;  but  Herodotus 
could  not  realize  the  national  idea,  because 
the  Greek  patriotism  of  the  city  state  was 
not  the  Roman  patriotism.  The  first  great 
Latin  historian,  whose  works  have  in  part 
descended  to  us,  Livy,  did  not  attempt  to 
demonstrate  principles,  but  endeavored  to 
inculcate  in  his  history  the  pride  of  national 
patriotism.  He  cared  not  about  the  truth 
with  regard  to  the  past ;  the  study  of  annals 
was  as  distasteful  to  him  as  to  a  modern 
philosophical  historian  ;  it  was  his  joy  rather 
to  incorporate  all  the  legends  and  traditions, 
whether  of  gods  or  demi-gods,  heroes  or 
men,  that  served  to  make  more  majestic  the 
grand  story  of  Roman  development.  The 
same  idea  inspired  Livy  that  inspired  Virgil; 
just  as  the  ^neid  with  its  pretension  to  base 
the  origin  of  Rome  upon  the  most  famous 
legends  of  the  Hellenic  world  is  the  distinc- 


32  HISTORY 

tively  Roman  epic,  in  prose  the  decades  of 
Livy  catered  to  the  same  pride  of  national 
patriotism.  In  style  Livy  is  as  frankly  im- 
aginative as  Herodotus  and  Thucydides,  and 
these  are  the  masters  whom  he  follows  in 
the  speeches  that  he  puts  into  the  mouths 
of  his  characters  and  in  the  subordination  of 
facts  to  a  preconceived  idea.  The  other 
great  Latin  historian,  part  of  whose  works 
have  descended  to  us,  Tacitus,  is  as  frankly 
indifferent  to  the  discovery  and  narration  of 
the  truth  as  the  more  credulous  Livy.  His 
task  resembled  that  of  Thucydides  in  that 
he  dealt  with  a  period  which  was  too  recent 
or  too  contemporary  to  admit  of  the  legend- 
ary tales  that  Livy  loved.  But  the  bias  of 
Tacitus  is  evident  through  all  his  works; 
his  account  of  the  reign  of  Tiberius  is  the 
work  of  a  clever  pamphleteer,  even  if  there 
existed  a  basis  of  fact  to  go  upon,  and  his 
slighter  works,  like  the  "  Agricola  "  and  the 
"  Germania,"  exhibit  the  skill  of  the  mas- 
ter of  rhetorical  style  rather  than  the  impar- 
tiality of  the  seeker  after  truth.  With  the 
Latin  historians,  then,  as  with  their  great 
prototypes,  the  Greek  historians,  the  narra- 
tion of  the  course  of  events  as  they  occurred 


HISTORY  33 

is  subordinated  to  other  aims,  and  their  fa- 
mous productions  are  to  modern  criticism 
models  of  literature  rather  than  models  of 
history. 

Since  the  great  writers  of  classical  anti- 
quity regarded  history  as  something  to  be 
written  with  an  ulterior  end  in  view,  whether 
poHtical  or  ethical  or  patriotic,  and  not  as 
something  to  be  studied  for  its  own  sake, 
they  despised  the  annalists  of  their  time  very 
much  as  the  philosophical  writers  of  the  last 
century  despised  the  "mere  antiquarians." 
The  ancient  world  agreed  with  them,  as  the 
literary  critics  of  the  last  three  centuries 
agreed  about  the  uselessness  of  the  antiqua- 
rian. This  is  clearly  shown  by  the  fact  that 
whereas  the  works  of  Herodotus  and  Thucy- 
dides  and  much  of  those  of  Livy  and  Tacitus 
have  come  down  to  us,  we  know  little  more 
than  the  names  of  the  industrious  annalists 
who  year  by  year  recorded  events  as  they 
occurred.  True  it  is  that  the  annalists  were 
no  more  historians  than  the  antiquarians,  but 
at  least  they  preserved  the  materials  of  his- 
tory which  the  more  eloquent  writers  em- 
bodied in  their  books.  We  may  be  grateful 
to  literature  in  that  their  Hterary  fame  has 


34  HISTORY 

preserved  for  us  the  writings  of  the  most 
famous  historians  of  antiquity,  containing, 
despite  their  historical  shortcomings  and  col- 
ored renderings,  some  part  of  the  truth ;  but 
what  would  not  the  world  give  now  for  the 
more  authentic,  if  less  literary,  productions 
of  the  humbler  recorders  of  contemporary 
facts  ? 

It  has  seemed  worth  while  to  dwell  upon 
the  characteristics  of  the  classical  idea  of  his- 
tory, in  order  to  show  the  nature  of  the  con- 
ception of  the  historian's  duty  which  became 
current  when  the  revival  of  classical  learning 
and  the  invention  of  printing  brought  into 
being  modern  literature.  The  classical  idea 
was  diametrically  opposed  to  the  modern 
idea  of  simply  narrating  what  happened  in 
the  past,  in  its  ever  keeping  a  national,  polit- 
ical, or  ethical  end  in  view;  and  it  was  not 
until  the  present  century  that  the  Western 
world  abandoned  the  theory  that  the  history 
of  the  past  deserved  to  be  told  only  for  the 
lessons  it  might  convey  instead  of  for  its  own 
sake.  During  the  Middle  Ages  and  until 
the  Revival  of  Learning  brought  the  great 
models  of  antiquity  before  the  minds  of 
scholars,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  models. 


HISTORY  35 

the  classical  conception  of  history  diminished 
in  force,  and  in  the  Western  Empire  the  his- 
tory of  historiography  was  influenced  rather 
by  traditions  of  the  classical  conception  than 
by  a  knowledge  of  its  actual  productions. 
In  the  Byzantine  Empire,  indeed,  writers  like 
Procopius  and  the  Princess  Anna  Comnena 
wrote  with  a  knowledge  of  the  classical 
models,  but  with  an  exaggeration  of  their 
characteristic  faults.  Gibbon  has  done  full 
justice  to  the  Byzantine  historians,  and  there 
is  no  need  here  to  dwell  upon  their  merits  or 
their  deficiencies,  since  they  did  not  affect 
either  the  development  of  history  in  the 
Western  Europe  of  the  Middle  Ages  or  the 
classical  ideal  which  revived  with  the  study 
of  classical  literature.  Very  few  of  the  me- 
diaeval chroniclers  of  Western  Europe  were 
much  more  than  annalists,  who  jotted  down 
from  day  to  day  the  events  which  occurred 
in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  their  mon- 
asteries or  of  which  rumors  reached  them 
from  more  distant  places.  But  even  during 
the  darkest  ages,  while  the  annalists  were 
collecting  the  scanty  material  for  the  history 
of  their  times,  there  were  some  few  chroni- 
clers who  conceived  a  larger  view  and  who 


36  HISTORY 

attempted  to  write  history  and  not  merely 
to  compile  annals  or  materials  for  history. 
When  these  chroniclers,  who  tried  to  be  his- 
torians, studied  the  past,  they  studied  it,  how- 
ever, whether  consciously  or  not,  with  very 
much  the  old  classical  ideas,  only  modified 
by  the  introduction  of  a  new  aim,  the  justi- 
fication of  the  Christian  religion.  The  idea 
of  proving,  and  of  twisting  the  facts  of  his- 
tory to  prove,  the  truths  of  the  Christian 
religion  was  both  natural  and  tempting  to 
professional  men  of  religion  like  the  monkish 
chroniclers.  National  pride  suggested  much 
of  the  treatment  of  the  past  at  the  hands  of 
those  mediaeval  chroniclers  who  tried  to  write 
history  instead  of  annals,  or  as  an  introduc- 
tion to  their  collection  of  annals,  but  reli- 
gious zeal  and  a  desire  to  promote  the  inter- 
ests of  the  Church  influenced  them  to  an 
even  greater  degree.  It  would  take  too  long 
to  deal  at  length  with  the  different  ages  and 
types  of  mediaeval  historians,  and  it  would 
perhaps  be  more  profitable  to  lay  weight  only 
upon  three  writers,  celebrated  among  early 
English  chroniclers,  whose  work  stands  out 
distinctly  and  illustrates  the  development  of 
the  historical  idea  in  the  Middle  Ages  from 
the  seventh  to  the  twelfth  century. 


HISTORY  37 

The  most  illustrious  man  of  letters  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  period  of  English  literature  was 
the  Northumbrian  monk  who  is  always  known 
as  the  Venerable  Bede.  Now  Bede  was 
more  essentially  a  theologian  than  he  was  a 
man  of  letters.  The  greatest  part  of  his  lit- 
erary work  was  theological,  and  it  was  with 
the  idea  of  exalting  the  services  rendered  by 
the  Christian  religion  to  the  people  of  Eng- 
land that  he  undertook  his  historical  work. 
He  called  his  history  "  The  Ecclesiastical 
History  of  the  English  People,"  and  its  title 
clearly  explains  his  aim.  Bede  did  not  desire 
to  set  before  his  readers  an  accurate  account 
of  the  history  of  England,  but  he  wrote 
rather  to  lay  weight  upon  the  mercies  that 
had  come  to  the  island  through  the  introduc- 
tion of  Christianity.  To  Bede  the  great  fact 
of  English  history  was  the  conversion  of  the 
people  of  the  different  kingdoms  to  Chris- 
tianity, and  he  dwelt  upon  the  work  of  evan- 
gelization and  the  difficulties  it  overcame 
with  the  fervor  of  enthusiasm.  It  is  true 
that  Bede  includes  a  good  deal  of  secular 
history  in  his  narrative,  but  its  proportions 
are  influenced  by  his  special  intention.  It 
may  be  remarked,  however,  that  Bede  took 


38  HISTORY 

much  more  pains  than  most  of  the  mediseval 
writers  of  his  time  to  acquire  accurate  infor- 
mation. At  the  beginning  of  his  history  he 
mentions  his  authorities  and  the  character 
of  the  information  he  obtained  from  each  of 
them,  and  he  evidently  took  pains  to  weigh 
his  authorities  and  to  check  their  statements 
by  critical  comparison.  Nearly  five  centuries 
elapsed  between  the  time  of  Bede  and  the 
time  of  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  yet  until  the 
time  of  Geoffrey  it  cannot  be  said  that  any 
of  the  English  recorders  of  events  can  be  re- 
garded as  historians  rather  than  annalists. 
Geoffrey's  idea  was  to  aggrandize  the  people 
of  England  by  dwelling  upon  their  antiquity 
and  making  their  historical  past  very  distant 
indeed.  Just  as  the  Rajput  bards  in  India 
try  to  increase  the  glory  of  their  princes  by 
tracing  their  genealogy  to  the  sun  and  moon, 
and  giving  a  long  mythical  ancestry  as  an 
introduction  to  the  recorded  deeds  of  ances- 
tral heroes,  so  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  tried 
to  make  England  as  ancient  and  as  classical 
as  possible  by  deriving  the  word  Britain  from 
Brut  and  narrating  that  the  English  state 
was  founded  by  an  exile  from  Troy.  Thus 
he  brought  his  country  into  touch  with  the 


HISTORY  39 

great  struggle  of  which  Homer  sung,  and 
by  adopting  an  imaginative  genealogy  at- 
tempted to  assert  the  importance  of  England 
in  classical  times.  The  Irish  chroniclers 
were  just  as  imaginative  and  just  as  desirous 
of  asserting  a  classical  origin  for  their  peo- 
ple, but  they  preferred  to  derive  their  heroes 
from  Miletus  rather  than  from  Troy.  But 
the  importance  of  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth 
rests  even  more  upon  his  adoption  of  Celtic 
legends  into  his  early  English  history.  The 
source  of  his  imaginations  is  a  vexed  subject 
among  specialists,  but  it  is  certainly  to  him 
that  the  English  people  owe  the  incorpora- 
tion among  their  national  legends  of  the 
tales  of  Arthur  and  the  prophecies  of  Merlin. 
Geoffrey  was  moved,  in  putting  together  a 
mythical  history  of  early  Britain,  by  a  frank 
desire  to  extend  the  antiquity  of  the  people 
of  England  and  thus  to  promote  their  na- 
tional pride.  It  mattered  not  to  him  whether 
the  legends  he  incorporated  were  classical  or 
Celtic ;  it  mattered  not,  though  he  was  a 
Christian  bishop,  how  much  he  adopted  of 
pagan  mythologies;  least  of  all  did  the  ques- 
tion of  probability  or  veracity  occur  to  his 
mind ;    his   sole   purpose   was   to   stimulate 


40  HISTORY 

national  pride,  and  the  influence  of  his  work 
is  to  be  seen  in  the  enduring  popularity  of 
his  legends  in  England  throughout  the  later 
Middle  Ages.  William  of  Malmesbury,  a 
contemporary  with  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth, 
did  not  attempt  such  entirely  imaginative 
methods,  and  neither  invented  nor  adapted 
an  Arthur  nor  traced  the  origin  of  the  people 
of  England  to  prehistoric  Trojan  exiles  ;  but 
he  did  try  to  fit  English  history  into  univer- 
sal history,  and,  by  dwelling  upon  this  fea- 
ture, to  exalt  the  place  England  should  hold 
in  the  history  of  the  world.  He  too,  as  an 
ecclesiastic,  laid  special  weight  upon  the 
ecclesiastical  side  of  English  history,  and 
never  forgot  to  glorify  the  work  of  the 
Church  in  England.  These  three  famous 
mediaeval  historians  of  England  were  indeed 
distinguished  from  the  annalists  in  that  they 
attempted  to  make  a  continuous  story  and  to 
group  their  matter  with  some  sense  of  per- 
spective, but  none  of  them  was  so  much  con- 
cerned with  the  discovery  of  the  truth  as 
with  the  illustration  of  the  thesis  he  had  set 
before  himself.  Their  methods  and  aims 
were  typical  of  their  time,  and  they  are  to  be 
distinguished  from  the  compilers  of  annals, 


HISTORY  41 

like  the  writers  of  the  Angflo-Saxon  or  En<r- 
lish  Chronicle,  and  the  recorders  of  contem- 
porary history,  like  Roger  of  Hoveden. 

The  writings  of  Bede,  Geoffrey  of  Mon- 
mouth, and  William  of  Malmesbury,  like 
those  of  all  the  mediaeval  chroniclers  in  the 
countries  of  Western  Europe,  were  in  Latin, 
and  showed  sometimes  in  the  conception  of 
history  and  still  more  often  in  their  style  the 
influence  of  classical  traditions  and  classical 
models.  It  is  true  enough  that  accurate 
knowledge  of  the  great  Latin  writers  became 
impossible  as  knowledge  of  the  classics  waned, 
and  that  Virgil,  for  instance,  became  known 
rather  as  a  magician  than  as  a  poet ;  but  their 
tradition  remained  and  had  its  effect  upon 
the  more  literary  chroniclers  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  It  is  interesting  to  see,  side  by  side 
with  the  elaboration  of  the  mediaeval  chroni- 
cles, a  development  of  history  in  the  vernacu- 
lars, and  to  observe  how  with  the  growth  of 
vernacular  literature  in  Western  Europe  came 
a  repetition  of  the  development  of  Greek  his- 
torical literature,  although  with  a  significant 
difference.  Just  as  the  Homeric  poems  re- 
presented the  legendary  achievements  of 
early  Greek  heroes,  so  does  the  "  Chanson 


42  HISTORY 

de  Roland  "  embody  in  splendid  verse  the 
traditions  of  the  great  age  of  Charlemagne 
and  glorify  the  deeds  of  its  heroes.  Fortu- 
nately the  "  Chanson  de  Roland  "  does  not 
stand  alone  as  the  sole  representative  of  its 
class,  like  the  Homeric  poems,  but  it  may  be 
regarded  as  a  typical  poem  of  historical  tra- 
dition as  much  as  the  Iliad,  and  its  scheme 
of  narration,  allowing  for  the  spirit  of  the 
civilization  of  its  era,  is  not  strikingly  differ- 
ent. If  the  "  Chanson  de  Roland  "  may  be 
taken  as  illustrating  the  beginnings  of  his- 
tory as  epic  poetry  in  the  modern  European 
vernaculars,  so  may  Froissart  be  picked  out 
as  illustrating  the  transference  of  history 
from  the  verse  to  the  prose  form.  It  would 
be  perhaps  too  much  to  compare  Froissart 
and  his  contemporaries  who  wrote  in  the 
fourteenth  century  to  Herodotus  and  Thucy- 
dides,  but  in  the  history  of  historiography 
they  occupy  a  similar  place.  The  introduc- 
tion of  Christianity  had  profoundly  modified 
the  character  of  civilized  man  and  caused  a 
change  of  mental  attitude  in  dealing  with 
the  delights  of  war,  which  can  be  clearly 
seen  in  comparing  the  Iliad  with  the 
"  Chanson  de  Roland."    Out  of  this  changed 


HISTORY  43 

attitude  grew  chivalry,  and  Froissart's  "Chron- 
icles "  are  not  only  prose  accounts  of  events, 
but  the  exhibition  in  the  narration  of  those 
events  of  the  characteristics  of  chivalry. 
Froissart  no  more  writes  with  the  sole  idea 
of  narrating  the  events  of  the  past  than  did 
Herodotus  or  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth ;  his 
eyes  are  fixed  upon  the  deeds  of  doughty 
knights,  and  neither  popular  movements,  like 
the  Peasants'  Revolt  in  England,  nor  the 
working  out  of  royal  or  national  policy,  dis- 
tract his  attention  from  the  record  of  feasts 
and  battles  and  campaigns.  Froissart  may 
be  taken  as  the  typical  chronicler  of  the  age 
of  chivalry,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  great 
movement  known  as  the  Revival  of  Learning, 
the  writing  of  history  in  Western  Europe 
would  undoubtedly  have  progressed  in  regu- 
lar development  from  the  mediaeval  chron- 
icles in  Latin  and  the  romantic  chronicles  in 
the  vernaculars  into  some  recognized  and 
perhaps  novel  form  of  historical  composition. 
The  Revival  of  Learning  gave  to  the  West- 
ern world  actual  knowledge  of  what  had 
been  considered  in  ancient  times  the  models 
of  historical  writing,  and  at  once  put  an  end 
to  the  prospect  of  any  natural  development 


44  HISTORY 

from  the  chronicles.  Stimulated  by  the 
beauty  of  style  of  these  classical  models,  the 
historians  of  the  period  of  the  Revival  of 
Learning  deHberately  modeled  their  works 
upon  them.  Machiavelli  not  only  wrote  his 
"  History  of  Florence  "  under  such  influence, 
but  summarized  his  ideas  upon  politics  in 
"  Discourses  upon  Livy."  Joao  de  Barros, 
the  greatest  of  all  the  Portuguese  historians, 
deliberately  wrote  his  history  of  the  Portu- 
guese in  Asia  in  the  form  of  decades,  and 
interspersed  his  narrative  of  events  with  im- 
aginary speeches  addressed  by  Portuguese 
generals  to  their  armies  of  the  same  charac- 
ter that  Thucydides  and  Livy  delighted  to 
compose.  The  learned  De  Thou  preferred 
to  call  himself  Thuanus,  and  even  abandon- 
ing the  vernacular  French,  to  write,  in  the 
correct  but  stilted  Latin  of  the  Renaissance, 
a  history  of  his  own  times  which  he  believed 
would  be  valued  by  posterity  on  account  of 
its  excellent  echo  of  Livy's  language  and 
literary  style.  And  if  we  turn  to  the  writ- 
ing of  history  in  England,  it  may  be  noted 
that  the  learned  Hobbes,  the  philosopher  of 
Malmesbury,  wrote  his  "Behemoth,  or  the 
History  of  the  Civil  Wars  of  England"  in 


HISTORY  46 

direct  imitation  of  Thucydides'  "  History  of 
the  Peloponnesian  War."  But  it  was  not 
only  the  style  and  form  of  the  classical  mod- 
els which  was  adopted  by  the  writers  of 
Western  Europe ;  they  absorbed  also  the  clas- 
sical conception  of  history.  In  their  eyes 
the  historian  differed  from  the  annaHst  in 
that  it  was  his  duty  not  only  to  write  in  a 
more  elegant  style,  but  likewise  to  point 
political  or  ethical  lessons  or  to  twist  events 
for  the  gratification  of  national  pride.  In 
time,  and  more  particularly  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  writers  appeared  who  prided  them- 
selves in  bringing  together  the  various  polit- 
ical lessons  they  discovered  in  the  works  of 
accredited  historians,  and  in  founding  upon 
wide  generalizations  what  they  were  pleased 
to  call  the  philosophy  of  history.  It  never 
concerned  these  philosophers  that  the  his- 
torians upon  whose  works  they  based  their 
theories  had  themselves  selected  and  grouped 
their  facts  to  illustrate  theories,  and  that  all 
their  history  rested  upon  so  insecure  a  foun- 
dation in  no  way  affected  their  sapient  phi- 
losophy. Never  has  the  study  of  history 
fallen  so  low  as  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
when  writers  were  deemed  historians  from 


46  HISTORY 

the  excellence  of  their  style  or  the  crudity 
of  their  theories,  and  when  diligence  in  in- 
vestigation and  impartial  accuracy  of  state- 
ment were  assumed  to  be  the  characteristics 
of  plodding  Dryasdusts,  quite  unworthy  of 
the  serious  consideration  of  men  of  light 
and  leading. 

It  was  however  in  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  century,  when  history  in  its  mod- 
ern sense  was  at  its  lowest  ebb,  that  there 
labored  modest  scholars  who  collected  the  re- 
cords of  the  past  and  thereby  conferred  an 
inestimable  service  upon  the  generations  that 
were  to  come.  The  men  who  rendered  the 
greatest  service  to  the  study  of  history  during 
the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  were 
not  the  men  who  wrote  philosophical  history, 
but  the  great  collectors  and  editors  of  docu- 
ments, men  like  Muratori  in  Italy,  Hearne  and 
Twysden  in  England,  and  the  famous  Bene- 
dictines in  France.  They  might  be  despised 
by  the  superior  persons  who  wrote  history, 
but  in  return  they  too  despised  the  inaccurate 
generalizations  of  their  esteemed  contempora- 
ries. The  unhappy  distinction  between  the 
business  of  the  scholar  or  antiquarian  who 
studied  and  made  accessible  the  documents 


HISTORY  47 

of  the  past  and  the  philosophical  writer  who 
assumed  the  name  of  historian  is  largely  re- 
sponsible for  the  current  misunderstanding  of 
the  aim  and  methods  of  the  modern  historical 
student.  It  is  still  sometimes  considered  that 
the  historian's  title  is  earned  only  by  a  bril- 
liant presentation  of  the  past,  and  that  the 
more  patient  scholar  should  be  classed  as  an 
archaeologist  or  an  antiquarian  or  a  mere  edi- 
tor of  documents.  But  it  is  worth  noting  that 
whereas  the  vast  collections  of  the  great  anti- 
quarians of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries  form  an  indispensable  basis  for  the 
work  of  students  of  history  of  to-day,  the 
books  of  the  philosophical  historians  of 
the  seventeenth  and  the  eighteenth  centuries 
are  read  only  as  masterpieces  of  Uterary  style. 
Their  volumes  are  no  longer  consulted  by 
seekers  after  a  knowledge  of  the  past ;  their 
theories  are  of  interest  only  to  students  of 
political  philosophy,  their  faulty  arrangement 
of  their  material,  their  want  of  accuracy,  their 
sacrifice  of  truth  to  style,  their  willful  care- 
lessness, and  their  bias  has  utterly  condemned 
their  works  as  repertories  of  historical  infor- 
mation. 

There  is  but  one  marked  exception,  to  my 


48  HISTORY 

knowledge,  in  the  whole  literature  o£  the 
eighteenth  century,  that  is  to  say,  there  is  but 
one  writer  who  was  regarded  as  a  historian 
in  the  eighteenth  century  whose  works  are 
still  read  as  history  and  not  as  literature  at  the 
present  time.  That  exception  is  Edward  Gib- 
bon. And  it  is  worthy  of  notice  that  Gibbon 
used  the  methods  of  the  modern  scientific 
school  long  before  those  methods  were  under- 
stood or  formulated  in  Europe.  Gibbon  real- 
ized that  there  was  no  gulf  of  difference 
between  the  historian  and  the  antiquary ; 
Gibbon  used  his  authorities  as  far  as  possible 
in  their  original  form ;  Gibbon  did  not  over- 
weigh  accuracy  of  statement  by  embellish- 
ments of  style  ;  Gibbon  attacked  his  subject 
without  laboring  to  prove  a  thesis  or  justify 
a  theory  ;  and  Gibbon  therefore  stands  alone 
as  the  one  historian  of  the  eighteenth  century 
whose  work  is  regarded  to-day  as  history 
that  deserves  reading  for  the  accurate  his- 
torical information  it  contains.  Few  things 
are  more  interesting  in  the  whole  history  of 
historiography  than  some  of  the  remarks  that 
Gibbon  makes  in  the  prefaces  to  his  different 
editions  of  his  "  Decline  and  Fall  of  the 
Roman  Empire,"  because  in   them   Gibbon 


HISTORY  49 

shows  how  differently  he  conceived  the  duty 
of  a  historian  from  such  other  eighteenth- 
century  writers  as  Voltaire  or  Hume  or  Ro- 
bertson. "Diligence,"  writes  Gibbon  in  1776, 
in  his  advertisement  to  the  notes  of  the  first 
edition  of  his  famous  history,  —  "  diHgence 
and  accuracy  are  the  only  merits  which  an 
historical  writer  may  ascribe  to  himself;  if 
any  merit,  indeed,  can  be  assumed  from  the 
performance  of  an  indispensable  duty.  I 
may  therefore  be  allowed  to  say  that  I  have 
carefully  examined  all  the  original  materials 
that  could  illustrate  the  subject  which  I  had 
undertaken  to  treat."  Further,  in  1788  Gib- 
bon writes  in  his  preface  to  the  fourth  volume 
of  the  quarto  edition  of  his  history,  "  I  shall 
content  myself  with  renewing  my  serious  pro- 
testation, that  I  have  always  endeavored  to 
draw  from  the  fountain-head  ;  that  my  curio- 
sity, as  well  as  a  sense  of  duty,  has  always 
urged  me  to  study  the  originals ;  and  that,  if 
they  have  sometimes  eluded  my  search,  I 
have  carefully  marked  the  secondary  evidence, 
on  whose  faith  a  passage  or  a  fact  were  re- 
duced to  depend."  No  modern  student  could 
state  more  clearly  the  chief  obHgations  of 
the  historian  than  Gibbon  has  done  in  these 


50  HISTORY 

sentences,  and  it  is  equally  remarkable  tliat, 
when  he  set  down  in  a  famous  passage  the 
circumstances  under  which  the  thought  came 
to  him  of  writing  his  magnum  opus,  in  his 
omission  to  dwell  upon  any  motive  for  his 
work,  except  the  interest  which  his  subject 
inspired,  Gibbon  also  foreshadowed  the  atti- 
tude of  the  historian  of  to-day. 

It  was  not  until  the  present  century  that 
the  idea  of  selecting  a  subject  for  research 
and  narration  for  its  own  inherent  interest, 
and  the  method  of  investigation  which  Gib- 
bon had  indicated,  were  regularly  formulated 
and  became  the  dogma  and  the  practice  of  a 
new  school  of  historical  writers.  It  might  be 
possible  to  show  that  others  than  Gibbon,  es- 
pecially among  the  editors  of  documents,  had 
even  before  his  time  held  the  views  and 
practiced  the  methods  of  modern  historians, 
but  it  is  the  glory  of  Niebuhr  and  Ranke 
that  they  not  only  formulated  these  ideas  and 
put  them  into  practice  but  that  they  founded 
the  school  which  may  be  called  the  modern 
scientific  school  of  history.  The  student  of 
historiography  can  indeed  point  out  instances 
of  the  exhibition  of  similar  ideas  and  meth- 
ods among  the  scholars  and  writers  of  other 


HISTORY  61 

countries,  but  it  was  in  Germany  that  they 
first  became  an  educational,  literary,  and  scien- 
tific force ;  and  the  phrase,  the  German  school 
of  historians,  is  not  historically  misleading, 
although  many  of  the  most  conspicuous 
champions  of  that  school  were  not  themselves 
trained  in  Germany  or  consciously  influenced 
by  German  example.  The  first  great  name 
of  the  German  school  is  that  of  Niebuhr. 
It  was  the  dream  of  Niebuhr's  fife  to  write  a 
history  of  Rome  which  should  end  where 
Gibbon  began.  His  task  was  to  remain  un- 
accomplished, and  he  never  got  further  than 
to  the  Punic  Wars.  But  in  dealing  with  the 
early  period  of  Roman  history  he  rendered  a 
greater  service  to  the  study  of  history  than 
Gibbon  had  rendered.  Until  the  time  of 
Niebuhr  it  had  been  the  habit  to  consider 
Livy  a  veritable  historian,  and  the  tales 
recorded  by  Livy  for  the  greater  honor  and 
glory  of  Rome  were  repeated  and  rehashed 
by  later  writers  with  much  elegance  of  prose 
style,  but  without  critical  examination.  The 
protests  of  the  few  scholars  of  the  Renais- 
sance who  had  perceived  the  improbability 
of  the  traditional  early  history  of  Rome  had 
been  scornfully  disregarded,  and  the  accepted 


fi2  HISTORY 

writers  of  ancient  history  during  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  such  as  Rollin  in  France  and 
Hooke  in  England,  had  considered  writing  a 
history  of  Rome  to  mean  paraphrasing  Livy 
with  an  occasional  addition  from  Plutarch  and 
Dio  Cassius.  Niebuhr  saw  the  absurdity  of 
this,  and  in  his  Roman  history  he  not  only 
rejected  the  fables  of  Livy  but  showed  why 
they  were  to  be  rejected.  It  was  this  that 
made  Niebuhr  the  real  founder  of  the  modern 
scientific  school  of  historians.  Others,  since 
his  time,  with  a  fuller  knowledge  of  docu- 
ments than  was  possible  for  him  to  possess, 
have  written  better  histories  of  Rome,  but 
Niebuhr's  fame  rests  upon  the  fact  of  his 
critical  examination  of  traditional  history. 
Niebuhr  showed  the  way ;  but  Ranke  applied 
the  critical  methods  of  Niebuhr  to  wider 
fields,  and  trained  students  in  the  modern 
idea  that  it  was  the  duty  of  the  historian  to 
study  history  for  the  purpose  of  discovering 
how  things  actually  happened  and  not  for 
the  purpose  of  bolstering  up  any  theory, 
however  noble,  whether  national  or  ethical 
or  political.  The  service  that  Niebuhr  and 
Ranke  rendered  was  twofold;  on  the  one 
hand  they  showed  that  truth  should  be  the 


HISTORY  53 

aim  of  the  historian's  quest ;  on  the  other 
hand  they  showed  that  in  that  quest  he 
must  diligently  hunt  out  all  possible  material 
and  afterwards  appreciate  that  material  with 
trained  and  critical  faculties.  It  is  most  pos- 
sible that  the  work  of  Niebuhr  and  Ranke 
in  taking  history  out  of  the  domain  of  philo- 
sophy and  literature,  and  in  regarding  it 
from  a  critical  point  of  view,  was  influenced 
by  the  analogy  in  the  advances  made  toward 
new  truths  in  the  mathematical,  experimental, 
and  natural  sciences,  both  in  method  and  in 
aim.  The  enormous  strides  made  in  the 
study  of  these  sciences  after  the  adoption  of 
modern  methods,  and  the  great  discoveries 
effected  by  drawing  conclusions  from  known 
and  recorded  phenomena  and  experiments, 
certainly  influenced  workers  in  the  field  of 
history,  and  although  Niebuhr  and  Ranke 
might  have  founded  their  school  without  any 
direct  imitation  of  their  fellow  workers  in 
these  sciences,  it  is  yet  significant  that  scienti- 
fic methods  of  investigfation  and  the  convic- 
tion  that  truth  should  be  sought  for  its  own 
sake  found  their  fullest  development  in  Ger- 
many, when  these  two  great  masters  of  his- 
torical investigation  floui'ished. 


64  HISTORY 

The  modern  conception  of  history  differs 
entirely  from  that  of  the  great  writers  of 
classical  antiquity,  whose  influence  and  ex- 
ample affected  the  writing  of  history  down 
to  the  present  century.  It  demands  that  the 
historian  should  present  an  accurate  and  im- 
partial account  of  man's  doings  in  the  past. 
Before  he  can  give  such  an  accurate  and  im- 
partial narrative  it  is  obviously  his  first  duty 
to  discover  the  truth  as  to  what  has  happened 
in  the  past.  The  discovery  of  the  truth  and 
its  narration  form,  therefore,  his  one  and  only 
aim. 

The  natural  limitations  of  the  historian 
are  great.  Every  human  man  is  inevitably 
influenced  by  the  circumstances  that  sur- 
round him.  No  Englishman  could  write  the 
history  of  England  with  absolute  impartial- 
ity; no  Frenchman  could  write  the  history 
of  France  with  absolute  impartiality ;  no 
German  could  write  the  history  of  Germany 
with  absolute  impartiality;  and  no  Ameri- 
can could  write  the  history  of  the  United 
States  with  absolute  impartiality.  Still  less 
could  any  Frenchman  write  a  history  of 
England  with  absolute  impartiality  ;  for  the 
prejudice  of   national  repulsion  may   be  as 


HISTORY  65 

great  as  that  of  national  affection.  Nor  is 
nationality  the  only  natural  limitation.  Re- 
ligious considerations,  political  beliefs,  and 
class  impressions  must  affect  the  impartiality 
of  every  human  man.  Since  these  natural 
limitations  are  so  great  it  seems  a  truism  to 
state  that  the  historian  should  not  further 
limit  his  efforts  at  impartiahty  by  the  culti- 
vation of  artificial  limitations.  If  a  writer 
deliberately  writes  history,  as  the  practice  of 
the  historians  of  the  past  demanded,  with 
the  desire  to  stimulate  national  pride,  or  to 
justify  some  political  idea  or  political  party, 
or  to  defend  some  religious  view,  or  to  illus- 
trate some  philosophical  theory,  he  simply 
adds  artificial  limitations  to  those  inevitable 
natural  limitations  which  have  been  enu- 
merated. The  modern  conception  of  his- 
tory then  demands  that  artificial  limitations 
shall  not  be  added  to  natural  limitations  in 
studying  and  writing  history.  The  absolute 
truth  with  regard  to  the  past  can  never  be 
discovered  or  narrated  by  human  men,  owing 
to  the  natural  prejudices  of  environment, 
apart  from  the  impossibility  of  obtaining 
complete  information ;  but  at  least  an  honest 
attempt  should  be  made  to  approximate  to 


66  HISTORY 

the  truth,  and  this  is  what  the  modern  con- 
ception of  history  demands.  Even  when 
dealing  with  long  past  ages  man's  infirmity 
of  natural  prejudice  inevitably  intervenes. 
A  modern  investigator  of  Greek  history,  for 
instance,  cannot  avoid  taking  sides  or  feel- 
ing sympathy  with  Athens  or  with  Sparta ; 
the  study  of  early  Christian  heresies  has 
envenomed  many  a  writer  nearly  two  thou- 
sand years  after  the  heresies  were  pro- 
pounded ;  Mr.  Freeman  loves  Harold  and 
feels  aspersions  on  Harold's  character  to  he 
reflections  on  English  character,  as  much  as 
Thierry  rejoices  in  the  Norman  Conquest  as 
a  victory  of  France  over  perfidious  Albion ; 
and  the  mere  fact  that  some  particular  sub- 
ject has  been  selected  by  a  student  for  inves- 
tigation is  a  proof  that  that  particular  sub- 
ject has  attracted  his  interest  and  therefore 
necessarily  attracted  it  for  some  reason, 
which  is  likely  to  bias  his  investigations  and 
narration. 

But  the  modern  conception  of  history  is 
not  the  only  distinction  which  marks  the 
chanofe  between  the  historians  of  classical 
antiquity  and  the  historians  of  to-day.  If 
Niebuhr   and   Ranke   and   the  other   great 


HISTORY  57 

German  teachers  formulated  this  clearly, 
they  also  even  more  clearly  propounded  the 
idea  of  the  scientific  method  of  investigation 
into  the  facts  of  the  past.  Here  again  the 
analogy  of  the  study  of  the  mathematical, 
experimental,  and  natural  sciences  can  be 
perceived.  Just  as  in  these  sciences  the  chief 
work  that  has  to  be  done  is  observation  or 
experiment,  since  from  observations  and  ex- 
periments alone  conclusions  can  be  drawn ; 
so  also  in  historical  work  the  first  duty  of 
the  worker  is  careful  investigation  before  a 
presentation  may  be  made  of  results.  The 
scientific  method  of  investigation  demands 
first  of  all  diligence  in  discovering  and  ex- 
amining all  possible  material,  and  secondly 
trained  critical  faculty  in  dealing  with  the 
material  that  has  been  discovered  and  ex- 
amined. MM.  Langlois  and  Seignobos  in 
their  valuable  "  Introduction  to  the  Study 
of  History  "  have  dealt  with  the  preliminary 
steps  towards  learning  how  to  discover  all 
possible  material  upon  a  subject  with  which 
the  historical  student  has  decided  to  deal. 
Enormous  and  bewildering  as  the  task  of  re- 
search is,  it  is  yet  the  indispensable  prelim- 
inary to  doing  any  useful  work,  and  one  of 


68  HISTORY 

the  chief  causes  of  despair  to  the  historical 
writer  of  to-day  lies  in  the  knowledge  of  the 
fact  that,  however  diligent  he  may  have 
been,  some  new  bit  of  material,  overlooked 
or  newly  discovered,  may  at  any  moment 
upset  the  result  of  his  most  strenuous  labor. 
But  it  is  not  enough  to  examine  all  possible 
material ;  the  historian  must  further  be 
trained  to  examine  it  with  critical  acumen. 
The  critical  faculty  cannot  indeed  be  taught, 
but  no  more  can  it  be  instinctively  assumed. 
The  laws  of  evidence  have  to  be  taught  to 
the  historical  student  as  they  have  to  be 
taught  to  the  lawyer.  No  rules  and  for- 
mulae can  ever  entirely  take  the  place  of 
critical  aptitude,  but  they  indicate  the  atti- 
tude of  mind  to  be  adopted  in  the  exami- 
nation of  material.  Historical  material  is 
vastly  diverse,  so  vastly  diverse  that  mate- 
rial seems  a  better  word  to  use  than  docu- 
ment, which  conveys  the  impression  that 
printed,  written,  or  inscribed  materials  alone 
are  useful  as  traces  of  the  past,  from  which 
to  derive  information.  A  battlefield,  a  coin, 
I  or  a  city  wall  is  as  much  historical  material 
as  a  printed  newspaper,  or  a  mediaeval  char- 
ter, or  a  Babylonian  brick,  for  everything  is 


HISTORY  59 

historical  material  which  bears  upon  it  a 
trace  of  the  past,  and  in  constructing  the 
history  of  the  past  it  is  necessary  to  examine 
and  to  weigh  all  the  traces  of  the  past  that 
can  possibly  be  brought  under  examination. 

This  recognition  of  the  extent  and  diver- 
sity of  historical  material  has,  since  the  sci- 
entific method  of  investigation  has  come 
into  being,  revolutionized  the  attitude  of  the 
historical  student  towards  his  material.  Time 
was,  even  after  the  birth  of  the  new  spirit, 
when  it  was  considered  enough  to  study  the 
written  or  printed  material  upon  a  subject 
or  period,  when  the  student  of  ancient  his- 
tory thought  it  sufficient  to  base  his  work 
upon  a  critical  examination  of  Thucydides 
and  Tacitus  and  the  other  classic  authors, 
checking  their  statements  by  a  critical  ex- 
amination of  their  bias,  methods,  and  sources, 
and  correcting  their  statements  by  a  know- 
ledge of  such  inscriptions  as  might  have 
been  transcribed  and  deciphered.  Time  was 
when  the  student  of  the  history  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  thought  his  work  done  when  he 
had  carefully  compared  the  accounts  given 
by  the  chroniclers  of  what  they  had  seen, 
and  of  what  they  had  heard  had  occurred  in 


60  HISTORY 

different  parts  of  the  world,  checking  their 
reports  by  the  construction  of  a  good  text  of 
the  chronicles  in  question  and  a  critical 
examination  of  the  sources  of  the  writers' 
information.  Time  was  when  the  working 
over  of  contemporary  memoirs  was  consid- 
ered the  chief  duty  of  the  historian  of  the 
seventeenth  and  the  eighteenth  centuries. 
And  to  come  down  to  more  recent  times,  it 
was  not  so  very  long  ago  that  it  was  held 
that  the  study  of  contemporary  newspapers 
was  the  only  way  to  obtain  a  knowledge 
of  nineteenth-century  history.  These  ideas 
mark  the  transition  from  the  old  to  the  new 
methods  of  historical  work.  It  is  now  real- 
ized that  more  trustworthy  historical  mate- 
rial is  to  be  found  in  the  permanent  traces  of 
the  past  that  cannot  have  been  prejudiced 
by  human  agency  than  in  the  testimony  of 
contemporary  histories,  chronicles,  memoirs, 
or  newspapers.  The  history  of  Greece  is 
now  being  rewritten  with  more  certain  know- 
ledge and  in  juster  proportion,  since  the 
archseologists,  numismatists,  and  epigraphers 
have  provided  the  modern  historian  with 
more  and  better  understood  materials  than 
were   possessed  by  his   predecessor.     Coins 


HISTORY  61 

and  inscriptions  are  recognized  as  more  val- 
uable because  less  prejudiced  sources  of  in- 
formation than  the  text  of  Thucydides,  and 
any  one  desiring  to  see  the  difference  be- 
tween the  old  and  the  new  methods  of  work 
can  find  it  illustrated  by  comparing  Grote's 
"  History  of  Greece  "  with  its  acute  criticism 
of  written  sources,  with  Adolph  Holm's 
"  History  of  Greece  "  with  its  scholarly  de- 
ductions from  archaeological  discoveries  and 
the  study  of  coins.  It  is  quite  possible  that 
Thucydides  or  any  other  contemporary  writer 
might  have  fallen  into  error  through  igno- 
rance, or  have  perverted  the  truth  to  justify 
his  views ;  but  when  once  the  numismatist 
has  fixed  the  date  of  a  coin,  or  the  epigrapher 
has  decided  the  date  and  meaning  of  an  in- 
scription, the  evidence  of  these  permanent 
and  unprejudiced  witnesses  must  outweigh 
the  statements  of  the  contemporary  historian. 
Similarly  the  history  of  the  Middle  Ages 
must  be  and  indeed  is  being  rewritten  from 
the  charters.  The  mediaeval  chroniclers  fell 
into  plenty  of  errors,  as  the  modern  newspa- 
per writer  may  fall  into  error  with  regard  to 
events  that  happened  yesterday,  and  even 
where  they  were  not  misled  by  false  infor- 


62  HISTORY 

mation  and  the  rumors  of  tradition  and  from 
distant  spots,  they,  being  human  men,  were 
swayed  by  the  national,  professional,  or  per- 
sonal prejudices  of  human  men.  But  char- 
ters, using  the  word  to  designate  the  whole 
body  of  the  official  documents  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  when  once  they  have  been  deciphered 
by  the  palaeographer,  and  their  date  and 
genuineness  decided  by  the  specialist,  form 
witnesses  to  facts,  of  whose  bona  fides 
there  can  be  no  doubt.  During  the  greater 
part  of  the  present  century  students  of 
mediaeval  history  used  their  critical  faculties 
to  find  out  the  course  of  events  in  the 
past  from  a  comparative  study  of  medi- 
aeval chronicles  and  an  ingenious  harmoniz- 
ing of  their  statements,  checked  when  possi- 
ble by  a  knowledge  of  charters.  But  now 
the  charters  themselves  form  the  necessary 
basis  of  study,  and  the  chronicles  are  more 
and  more  being  recognized  as  possessing 
more  literary  than  historical  value.  No  one 
has  done  more  in  English  history  to  note 
this  change  in  the  value  of  material  than 
Mr.  J.  H.  Round,  whose  "  Geoffrey  de  Mau- 
de ville  "  is  an  excellent  example  of  the  new 
method  of  handling  the  material  of  mediae- 


HISTORY  63 

val  history.  The  same  change  of  attitude 
may  be  observed  with  regard  to  the  study  of 
more  modern  history.  The  habit  of  work- 
ing out  the  history  of  modern  times  from 
memoirs  and  contemporary  pamphlets  and 
for  the  latest  period  from  newspapers  is  fall- 
ing into  desuetude.  It  is  perfectly  well  re- 
cognized that  the  writer  of  memoirs  is  telling 
a  story  of  which  he  is  the  central  figure, 
even  if  he  be  not  the  apologist  for  his  own 
career;  the  political  pamphleteer  and  news- 
writer  is  not  concerned  to  give  the  whole 
truth ;  and  our  experience  of  newspapers  in 
daily  life  does  not  inspire  absolute  confi- 
dence in  their  accuracy  of  statement.  It  is 
as  absurd  to  try  to  write  modern  history  en- 
tirely from  contemporary  newspapers  as  to 
write  the  history  of  the  Peloponnesian  War 
entirely  from  Thucydides.  It  is  from  actual 
laws  passed,  official  orders  given,  reports  and 
dispatches  actually  received,  that  the  history 
of  the  present  century  must  be  and  is  being 
rewritten.  Of  course  the  testimony  of  in- 
scriptions, mediaeval  charters,  and  official 
documents  is  not  irrefragable,  but  it  is  at 
least  much  less  biased  by  human  prejudice 
than  the  work  of  contemporary   historian, 


64  HISTORY 

chronicler,  memoir   writer,  pamphleteer,   or 
newspaper  reporter. 

Before  describing  the  change  that  has 
come  over  the  study  and  the  writing  of  his- 
tory as  a  result  of  the  modern  conception  of 
its  aim  and  the  modern  methods  of  scientific 
investigation,  it  may  be  well  here  to  point 
out  the  distinction  between  the  study  of  his- 
tory and  the  historical  method  of  studying 
other  subjects.  The  duty  of  the  historian  is 
to  discover  as  far  as  he  can  and  to  narrate 
as  impartially  as  he  can  what  happened  in 
the  past,  and  in  order  to  do  this  he  should 
not  hamper  his  work  or  his  narrative  by  any 
ulterior  motive.  The  political  economist  or 
the  political  philosopher  or  any  other  stu- 
dent of  the  activities  of  men  may  choose  to 
deal  with  his  subject  by  showing  its  history. 
The  political  philosopher,  for  instance,  in  his 
desire  to  explain  certain  existing  political 
institutions,  may  find  it  indispensable  to 
study  the  history  of  those  institutions.  His 
province  is  therefore  difPerent  to  that  of 
the  historian.  To  him  the  historical  method 
is  a  means  of  explanation  which  he  has  a 
perfect  right  to  adopt;  but  even  the  politi- 
cal philosopher  and  the  political  economist 


HISTORY  65 

might  not  be  the  worse  for  the  hint  that 
they  would  be  wise  to  rely  upon  the  investi- 
gation and  narration  of  the  trained  historian. 
They  might  be  tempted  to  find  during  their 
own  historical  researches  justification  for 
their  theories  which  the  unbiased  investiga- 
tor of  the  past  would  not  recognize.  A 
knowledge  of  what  really  happened  in  the 
past  must  be  the  basis  of  all  so-called  human 
sciences,  dealing  with  man  as  an  individual 
and  man  in  society,  and  until  that  know- 
ledge is  correctly  known  and  stated,  the  con- 
clusions of  the  political  philosophers  and 
their  brethren  must  be  mere  theories.  Great 
as  have  been  the  gains  made  in  the  mastery 
of  the  human  sciences  during  the  present 
century  by  the  adoption  of  the  historical 
method,  it  may  be  safely  asserted  that  still 
greater  and  more  accurate  knowledge  will 
be  attained  when  the  labors  of  trained  his- 
torians have  secured  a  more  approximately 
accurate  knowledge  of  man's  doings  in  the 
past  than  has  yet  been  acquired. 

The  first  marked  result  that  has  been 
brought  about  by  the  modern  conception 
of  history  is  that  the  literary  presentation 
of  the  results  of  historical  investigfation  is 


66  HISTORY 

regarded  as  of  less  importance  than  used  to 
be  the  case.  In  the  historian  of  the  old 
school,  when  history  was  still  a  department 
of  literature,  it  was  the  presentation  of  his 
ideas  that  counted  rather  than  his  diligence 
or  his  critical  insight.  It  was  for  this  rea- 
son that  professors  of  history,  even  as  late 
as  Daunou  in  the  present  century,  made  it 
the  prime  duty  of  a  historian  to  study  not 
only  the  accepted  models  of  historical  narra- 
tion, but  also  the  epic  poets  and  the  novel- 
ists who  had  most  successfully  developed  a 
literary  style  of  description  and  narration. 
But  now  has  come  the  great  change  of  atti- 
tude. No  educated  person  at  the  present  time 
judges  an  historical  work  solely  by  its  liter- 
ary style,  any  more  than  he  would  judge  a 
book  on  physics  or  chemistry  or  pohtical 
economy  or  philosophy  by  its  literary  style 
alone.  The  literary  presentation  is  of  sec- 
ondary instead  of  being,  as  it  used  to  be,  of 
primary  importance  to  the  reputation  of  a 
historian.  Interesting  and  brilliant,  but  in- 
accurate historical  works  are  now  judged  as 
literature  and  often  take  high  place  as  liter- 
ature, with  historical  fiction.  But  the  test 
of  the  history  as  a  history  is  now  the  dili- 


HISTORY  67 

gence  of  investigation,  the  accuracy  of  state- 
ment and  the  impartiahty  of  observation  of 
the  writer. 

It  has  come  to  pass,  therefore,  that  histor- 
ical writers  are  now  objective  rather  than 
subjective.  In  literature,  the  subjectivity  of 
the  author  as  exhibited  in  his  style  gives 
him  his  rank ;  in  history,  as  in  natural  sci- 
ence, the  less  subjective  and  the  more  objec- 
tive the  author's  style,  the  better  is  his  work. 
Historians  of  previous  centuries,  and  a  good 
many  writers  of  the  present  century,  who 
failed  to  realize  that  history  is  something 
more  than  a  branch  of  literature,  delighted 
in  impressing  what  they  were  pleased  to 
call  their  personality  upon  the  works  they 
called  histories  by  means  of  a  distinctive 
style  and  the  expression  of  their  own  subjec- 
tivity, and  thus  their  books  contained  rather 
their  personal  opinions  about  the  past  than 
narratives  of  what  happened  in  the  past.  It 
may  be  very  interesting,  very  stimulating, 
and  very  valuable  in  the  formation  of  sound 
opinion  upon  great  national,  political,  and 
ethical  subjects  to  know  the  opinions  on 
these  matters  of  great  men,  like  Thomas 
Carlyle   or    Thomas     Babington    Macaulay. 


68  HISTORY 

But  the  modern  student  of  history  desires  to 
know  what  actually  happened  in  the  past, 
and  he  is  naturally  skeptical  of  the  truth  of 
narratives  given  by  writers  who  deliberately 
color  their  works  with  their  own  opinions 
and  their  own  personality. 

Increased  objectivity  in  literary  presenta- 
tion is  the  inevitable  result  of  the  scientific 
attitude.  It  is  almost  an  insult  to  a  histo- 
rian of  the  modern  school  to  say  that  his 
work  can  be  recognized  by  its  literary  style. 
It  is  not  his  business  to  have  a  style.  It  is 
his  business  to  narrate  as  clearly  as  possible 
what  happened  in  the  past,  so  that  the 
reader  may  draw  his  own  conclusions  and 
make  what  generalizations  he  pleases,  in  full 
security  that  the  facts  are  related  as  accu- 
rately as  possible.  The  philosopher  and  the 
political  economist  can  theorize  with  more 
pleasure  and  more  usefulness  when  they 
have  an  accurate  basis  of  knowledge  to  go 
upon.  The  development  of  objectivity  in 
historical  writing  may  indeed  make  history 
less  interesting  to  the  student  of  literature, 
but  it  certainly  makes  it  infinitely  more  val- 
uable to  the  student  of  the  human  sciences. 
Even  the  general  reader,  who  reads  history 


HISTORY  69 

not  as  a  basis  for  further  studies,  but  simply 
for  information,  gets  more  satisfaction  when 
he  knows  that  from  the  works  of  the  modern 
historians  he  can  learn  what  actually  hap- 
pened, whereas  in  reading  the  works  of  sub- 
jective historians  he  must  ever  be  tantalized 
by  a  consciousness  that  the  story,  however 
brilliant  or  absorbingly  interesting,  is  col- 
ored by  the  personality  of  the  writer  and 
gives  his  interpretation  of  the  past  rather 
than  a  faithful  and  accurate  narrative. 

If  the  former  close  connection  between  his- 
tory and  literature  falsified  the  aim  of  the 
historian  and  damaged  true  historical  work 
in  that  it  placed  eloquence  of  presentation  in 
front  of  diligence  of  investigation  and  accu- 
racy of  description,  it  is  by  no  means  certain 
that  the  divorce  of  history  from  literature 
might  not  produce  a  different  kind  of  disad- 
vantage. The  historian  of  the  old  school 
wrote  books  which  could  be  read  and  under- 
stood by  all  classes  of  readers,  since  the  fact 
that  history  was  regarded  as  literature  pre- 
vented the  elaboration  of  a  scientific  termin- 
ology. It  is  the  difficulty  of  the  terminology, 
the  unusual  and  weird  words  employed,  that 
prevents   the  ordinary  educated   man   from 


70  HISTORY 

reading  many  of  the  works  of  modern  philo- 
sophers and  from  studying  the  results  of  mod- 
ern scientific  discoveries  in  the  natural  sci- 
ences. The  indispensable  preliminary  to  any 
work  in  the  natural  sciences  and  even  in  the 
more  modern  social  sciences,  but  most  espe- 
cially in  the  study  of  metaphysics,  is  a  care- 
ful training  in  terminology.  Now  history 
fortunately  or  unfortunately  has  not  got  a 
special  terminology.  The  plain  person  who 
can  read  anything  can  read  a  historical  work. 
This  makes  it  possible  for  a  much  larger 
number  of  educated  persons  to  read  history 
than  to  read  metaphysics  or  natural  science. 
But  on  the  other  hand  there  is  a  distinct  dis- 
advantage in  the  fact  that  the  historian  has 
often  to  explain  the  meaning  of  the  words 
he  uses  because  they  are  understood  in  differ- 
ent senses,  and  many  are  the  mistakes  that 
have  been  caused  by  the  failure  of  the  writer 
to  explain  his  exact  meaning  owing  to  a  care- 
less use  of  misunderstood  terms.  There  is  a 
danger  lest  the  historian  of  the  modern  school, 
in  his  desire  for  accuracy  of  statement,  may 
create  for  himself,  as  certain  writers,  espe- 
cially in  Germany,  have  done  in  dealing  with 
the  history  of  institutions,  a  terminology  only 


HISTORY  71 

equaled  in  its  abstruseness  by  that  of  the  mod- 
ern metaphysician.  When  this  takes  place^ 
or  if  this  takes  place,  history  departs  from  its 
old  sphere  and  clearly  passes  into  the  domain 
of  those  sciences  which  can  be  studied  only 
by  specialists,  who  have  had  a  specialist's 
training.  The  danger  is  a  very  real  one,  as 
all  students  of  modern  historical  monographs, 
especially  in  German,  must  admit.  If  the 
divorce  between  history  and  literature  is  to 
bring  about  this  result,  natural  though  the 
reaction  from  looseness  of  language  to  a  spe- 
cialist terminology  may  be,  and  the  numbers 
of  readers  of  history  are  thus  to  be  dimin- 
ished, history  will  lose  its  chief  advantage 
over  other  subjects  of  a  scientific  nature. 
But  though  the  danger  threatens,  it  has  not 
yet  swamped  the  field  of  history,  and  a  mid- 
dle course  may  be  hoped  for,  by  which  indeed 
the  historian  may  regard  his  literary  style  as 
of  less  importance  than  his  diligence  in  inves- 
tigation or  his  accuracy  in  criticism,  while  re- 
taining a  sense  of  his  obligation  to  write  books 
that  may  be  read  by  the  general  reader,  even 
if  he  has  to  take  more  pains  in  presenting 
his  results  than  the  philosopher  or  the  chem- 
ist.   The  advantage  of  having  his  books  more 


72  HISTORY 

widely  read  by  the  general  public  comes  down 
to  him  as  the  effect  of  the  old  connection  be- 
tween history  and  literature,  and  he  should 
look  to  it  that  this  advantage  be  not  lost  by 
a  pedantic  attempt  to  create  a  new  termin- 
ology or  by  a  conceited  effort  to  confine  his 
readers  to  a  narrow  body  of  special  students. 
It  follows,  then,  that  although  accuracy, 
diligence,  impartiality,  and  a  trained  critical 
faculty  are  the  chief  needs  of  the  historian 
of  the  modern  school,  it  is  further  necessary 
that  he  be  able  to  express  clearly  the  results 
of  his  labors  in  a  literary  form  that  shall  be 
attractive  and  clear  without  yielding  to  the 
temptation  of  eloquence.  This  is  a  more  im- 
portant and  difficult  task  for  him,  more  than 
for  the  writer  on  natural  science,  whose  ter- 
minology is  the  creation  of  a  new  language 
in  which  to  express  new  things  and  new  ideas. 
But  in  another  respect  the  historian  is  af- 
fected more  than  the  investigator  into  the  nat- 
ural or  experimental  sciences  by  the  fact  that 
in  his  work  he  is  aided  and  also  hindered  by 
that  most  stimulating  but  dangerous  faculty 
—  imagination.  The  possession  of  a  vivid  im- 
agination does  not  damage  the  work  of  a  well- 
trained  investigator  in  experimental  or  natu- 


HISTORY  73 

ral  science.  Such  a  student  may  imagine 
what  he  likes,  but  his  results  are  positive  or 
negative,  and  can  be  tested  by  other  investi- 
gators. To  the  historical  student  the  faculty 
of  imagination  is  of  value  in  that  it  gives  him 
an  insight  into  the  past,  which  often  enables 
him  to  reconstruct,  as  by  a  flash  of  inspira- 
tion, the  story  of  the  past ;  but  it  is  a  danger 
in  that  it  may  cause  him  to  be  warped  in  his 
examination  of  facts  by  a  desire  to  build  up 
a  past  which  he  sees  only  in  his  imagination. 
It  is  doubtless  true  that  the  man  specially 
fitted  for  purely  scientific  investigation  could 
never  become  a  historian,  because  of  the  of- 
fense that  the  absence  of  definiteness  in  terms 
and  the  powerlessness  to  test  his  results  by 
experiment  would  cause  him.  The  imagina- 
tive student  of  natural  or  experimental  science 
from  the  very  nature  of  his  work  is  less  able 
to  deceive  himself  than  is  the  imaginative 
student  of  history ;  but  on  the  other  hand  it 
is  quite  possible  for  a  man  without  any  imagi- 
nation at  all  to  be  a  successful  investigator 
of  natural  phenomena,  while  the  whole  basis 
of  interest  in  the  story  of  past  events  lies  in 
the  imaginative  power  of  understanding  and 
reconstructing  the  past.    Those  historical  stu- 


74  HISTORY 

dents  in  whom  the  faculty  of  imagination  is 
so  great  that  it  indisposes  them  for  diligent 
inquiry  or  accurate  statement,  and  prevents 
them  from  even  attempting  a  position  of  im- 
partiality, can  do  and  have  done  a  great  ser- 
vice in  stimulating  an  interest  in  the  past, 
and  they  have  often  through  their  imagina- 
tive genius  made  the  past  more  real  and  more 
intelHgible  to  thousands  of  readers,  by  con- 
veying a  sense  of  its  true  atmosphere,  than 
the  ablest  historical  writers,  whose  imagina- 
tion is  less  vivid  and  whose  powers  of  expres- 
sion are  less  developed. 

It  is  here,  perhaps,  as  well  to  say  a  few 
words  upon  the  great  value  of  historical  nov- 
els. I  know  that  I  differ  from  a  great  num- 
ber of  historical  students  in  that  I  believe 
thoroughly  in  the  value  of  historical  fiction. 
After  having  spoken  so  strongly  as  the  cham- 
pion of  accuracy  and  impartiality,  it  may  ap- 
pear strange  to  express  emphatic  approbation 
of  the  historical  novel  with  its  inaccuracies 
and  its  gross  partiality.  It  is  because  the 
faculty  of  imagination  with  regard  to  the  past 
finds  its  proper  field  in  historical  novels  that 
their  service  to  the  cause  of  historical  truth 
is  so  great.     The  more  strong  the  attraction 


HISTORY  75 

towards  correct  and  impartial  history,  the 
more  enthusiastic  must  be  the  admiration  felt 
for  the  writers  of  genius  who  can  reproduce, 
be  it  ever  so  faintly,  the  atmosphere  of  the 
past.  The  reading  of  historical  novels  is  likely 
to  lead  to  a  less  incorrect  knowledge  of  the 
past  than  the  reading  of  inaccurate  histories. 
Readers  of  Scott  and  Dumas  and  Kingsley 
and  Weir  Mitchell  are  much  more ,  likely  to 
approach  history  with  a  stimulated  imagina- 
tion and  a  longing  to  discover  the  truth  than 
readers  of  Froude  and  Carlyle  and  Bancroft. 
The  readers  of  historical  novels  have  borne  in 
upon  them,  by  the  love  story  and  the  obvious 
inventions  of  the  author,  the  knowledge  that 
they  are  reading  fiction,  and  they  therefore 
do  not  fix  definitely  in  their  minds  as  abso- 
lute historical  truths  the  historical  surround- 
ings in  which  the  characters  of  the  novelists 
are  placed.  Being  confessedly  fiction,  the  dis- 
covery of  historical  inaccuracy  in  the  writings 
of  the  great  historical  novelists  does  not  be- 
wilder the  mind  as  the  discovery  of  similar 
inaccuracies  in  the  works  of  professed  histo- 
rians. The  reader  can  modify  what  he  may 
discover  to  be  false,  or  may  reject  what  seems 
to  him  obviously  incongruous  when  he  knows 


76  HISTORY 

that  he  is  reading  fiction  ;  but  such  a  mental 
process  in  the  reading  of  what  professes  to 
be  the  truth  arouses  an  uncomfortable  skep- 
ticism which  spoils  the  pleasure  and  advan- 
tage that  should  result  from  reading  trust- 
worthy history.  But  the  advantage  of  reading 
historical  fiction  is  positive  as  well  as  nega- 
tive. The  imagination  once  powerfully  stimu- 
lated, an  interest  is  aroused  which  often  leads 
to  a  desire  to  find  out  what  actually  happened. 
Even  if  the  atmosphere  of  the  past  given  by 
great  writers  be  not  wholly  accurate,  it  is  yet 
not  difficult  to  modify  the  inaccuracy  without 
losing  the  interest  that  has  been  stimulated. 
Sir  Walter  Scott  and  Alexandre  Dumas,  with 
their  marvelous  power  of  seeing  into  the  past, 
narrated  far  more  accurately  the  life  of  the 
past  than  the  inaccurate  historians  who  call 
their  work  philosophical  because  it  is  not  sci- 
entific. The  value  of  historical  fiction  varies 
of  course  from  the  works  of  the  great  mas- 
ters like  Scott  and  Dumas  to  those  of  their 
modern  imitators  who  think  that  the  adop- 
tion of  their  style  is  likely  to  carry  with  it 
all  their  merits ;  but  in  no  historical  novels, 
since  they  are  all  professedly  imaginative, 
are  such  crimes  committed  against  the  cause 


HISTORY  77 

of  historical  truth  as  in  many  of  the  most 
esteemed  works  of  the  literary  and  philo- 
sophical historians,  who  profess  to  tell  the 
truth  while  really  indulging  their  dehberately 
perverted  imaginations. 

These  remarks  on  historical  fiction  lead 
naturally  to  the  final  discussion  of  the  atti- 
tude which  every  reader  of  books  should 
adopt  when  reading  volumes  dealing  with 
historical  subjects.  It  is  the  first  duty  of 
every  reader  of  such  volumes  to  fix  in  his 
own  mind  as  soon  as  possible  the  class  to 
which  the  writer  of  the  book  perused  be- 
longs. This  may  be  done  by  outside  know- 
ledge in  the  case  of  well-known  books  or  in 
the  case  of  new  books  by  well-known  writ- 
ers, but  in  the  case  of  new  books  the  placing 
of  the  writer  in  his  proper  category  can  be 
done  only  by  the  use  of  the  critical  faculties 
of  the  reader  himself.  What  makes  the 
reading  of  historical  fiction  so  little  preju- 
dicial for  the  grasp  of  historical  truth  is  that 
it  is  avowedly  fiction,  and  if  historians  could 
at  once  be  placed  in  their  proper  categories, 
little  harm  would  result  from  the  reading  of 
even  the  most  partial  and  most  inaccurate  of 
histories.     It  is  impossible  here  to  do  more 


78  HISTORY 

than  give  a  hint  or  two  toward  aiding  readers 
of  history  to  estimate  their  attitude  towards 
the  books,  labeled  histories,  which  may  come 
into  their  hands.  History  written  by  con- 
temporaries, intensely  interesting  as  it  is, 
must  necessarily  be  lacking  in  perspective 
and  should  be  regarded  as  material  for  his- 
tory rather  than  as  history.  A  contempo- 
rary cannot  by  the  nature  of  things  see  as 
clearly  into  the  import  of  events  as  poster- 
ity ;  a  contemporary  cannot  know  the  facts 
as  accurately  in  all  their  bearing  as  the  later 
student  of  documents;  a  contemporary,  if 
he  has  played  any  part  in  events,  or  even 
if  he  has  been  only  an  observer,  must  neces- 
sarily have  more  bias  and  show  more  bias  in 
dealing  with  matters  that  personally  affect 
him;  and  finally,  a  contemporary  is  influ- 
enced by  the  mere  fact  that  he  is  writing  for 
a  special  audience,  whether  that  audience  be 
his  own  immediate  family,  his  friends,  or  his 
enemies,  or  even  for  posterity.  Take  for  in- 
stance Clarendon's  "History  of  the  Great 
Rebellion  ; "  though  entitled  a  history,  it  is 
really  valuable  primary  material  for  the  period 
of  Clarendon,  and  where  it  is  not  an  apology 
for  the  political  party  to  which  Clarendon  be- 


HISTORY  79 

longed,  it  is  a  narrative  based  upon  an  active 
politician's  point  of  view.  With  regard  to 
histories  not  written  by  contemporaries,  care 
must  be  taken  to  discount  the  personality  of 
the  writers  just  as  much  as  in  the  case  of 
contemporary  writers  themselves.  The  dis- 
counting must  be  done  by  a  study  of  the 
personality  of  the  writer :  by  a  knowledge 
of  the  date  at  which  he  wrote,  the  theory  of 
historical  writing  prevalent  during  his  time, 
the  amount  of  documentary  evidence  avail- 
able for  him,  and  the  amount  or  absence 
of  scientific  training ;  by  a  consideration 
whether  he  belongs  to  the  old  philosophic 
and  hterary  school  or  to  the  modern  scien- 
tific school ;  by  weighing  his  national,  polit- 
ical and  religious  views  ;  and  most  of  all  by 
a  true  understanding  of  his  personahty  and 
his  conception  of  his  duty  as  a  historian,  his 
impartiality  and  his  accuracy.  In  other 
words,  either  before  or  after  a  book  labeled 
history  is  read,  its  author  should  be  dis- 
counted in  order  that  his  statements  should 
only  be  trusted  so  far  as  they  deserve  con- 
fidence. It  is  easy  enough  to  discount  a 
writer  who  shows  violent  prejudice  in  the 
treatment  of  his  subject,  and  it  is  generally 


80  HISTORY 

easy  enough  to  discount  a  writer  who  ex- 
hibits his  intention  upon  every  page.  Take, 
for  instance,  Macaulay's  magnificent  "  His- 
tory of  England,"  with  its  unrivaled  word- 
pictures,  the  obvious  saturation  of  its  au- 
thor's mind  in  the  literature  of  his  period, 
and  its  careful  working  up  of  details ;  yet 
the  least  experienced  reader  of  history  can 
perceive  the  trend  of  the  famous  writer's 
personality  and  can  realize  the  grossness  of 
his  partiality,  while  the  more  experienced 
reader,  who  knows  something  of  Macaulay's 
life  and  political  career,  can  quickly  perceive 
that  his  history  is  largely  an  apology  for,  and 
a  glorification  of,  the  founders  of  the  English 
Whig  party.  Take  again  such  a  book  as 
Buckle's  "  History  of  Civilization ;  "  in 
spite  of  a  certain  parade  of  erudition  and 
impartiality,  the  most  careless  reader  cannot 
fail  to  perceive  that  the  author  is  bolstering 
up  a  theory  and  endeavoring  to  prove  that 
a  certain  philosophical  scheme  is  justified  by 
the  facts  of  history.  Take  again  Bancroft's 
"  History  of  the  United  States ;  "  is  it  pos- 
sible to  avoid  observing  the  national  preju- 
dice which  glows  through  the  author's  vol- 
umes even  though  the  reader  may  commend 


HISTORY  81 

that  prejudice  as  inflaming  his  own  patriotic 
pride  and  possibly  inspiring  the  same  feel- 
ing in  the  breasts  of  others?  Take  lastly, 
as  an  instance  of  perverted  powers,  the  his- 
torical work  of  James  Anthony  Froude ; 
the  author  is  one  of  the  masters  of  modern 
English  literary  style,  and  the  art  of  prose 
narration  has  never  been  more  beautifully 
illustrated ;  but  Mr.  Froude  did  not  belong 
to  a  school  of  writers  that  regarded  impar- 
tiality or  accuracy  as  of  the  slightest  impor- 
tance, and  even  if  he  had  belonged  to  such 
a  school  he  was  affected  by  a  curious  and 
interesting  disease  which  prevented  him 
from  stating  the  truth  even  when  he  per- 
ceived it.  Many  years  ago  one  of  the  critics 
invented  the  word  "  Froudacity "  to  de- 
scribe the  attitude  of  Froude  and  writers 
afflicted  with  his  disease  toward  facts. 
Froudacity  is  quite  different  from  menda- 
city ;  it  is  not  so  much  a  perversion  of  the 
truth  as  an  absolute  inability  to  state  it. 
Such  men  as  Froude  rank  among  the  glories 
of  English  literature ;  but  their  genius  for 
literary  expression  has  done  great  harm  to 
the  study  of  history;  and  it  may  surely  be 
argued  that  when  men  afflicted  with  Froude's 


82  HISTORY 

disease  insist  upon  calling  their  books  his- 
tories, the  attention  of  innocent  readers 
should  be  called  to  the  fact  that  they  are 
histories  only  in  name,  and,  owing  to  the 
personality  of  the  writers,  are  not  to  be 
classed  with  histories  which  endeavor  to  give 
accurate  and  impartial  accounts  of  what  hap- 
pened in  past  ages. 

Writers  afflicted  with  Fronde's  disease  and 
therefore  unable  to  narrate  the  truth  are 
unfortunately  only  too  numerous,  for  their 
imagination  has  inspired  them  with  an  in- 
terest in  the  past,  and  the  idea  that  history 
belongs  to  the  domains  of  philosophy  and 
literature  has  complete  possession  of  their 
minds.  But  such  writers  are  not  more  mis- 
leading than  those  patriotic  historians,  who 
deliberately  deal  with  national  history,  be- 
cause their  breasts  are  filled  with  patriotism 
and  they  desire  to  prove  the  greatness  of 
their  fatherland.  The  more  patriotic  and 
therefore  the  more  worthy  such  a  writer  may 
be  as  a  citizen,  the  worse  he  must  be  as  a 
historian.  The  glowing  energy  of  his  patri- 
otism must  affect  his  impartiality ;  he  must 
be  tempted  to  explain  away  such  events  in 
the  national  past  as  the  development  of  the 


HISTORY  83 

world's  consciousness  has  shown  to  be  mis- 
taken ;  and  his  books  should  therefore  be 
studied  and  read,  and  it  even  may  be  argued 
should  be  encouraged  in  a  scheme  of  national 
education,  but  their  statements  should  not 
be  too  credulously  and  implicitly  accepted  as 
true  by  educated  readers.  It  is  necessary  to 
discount  the  patriotic  as  well  as  the  philo- 
sophical and  literary  historians,  and  no  one 
who  would  know  what  really  happened  in 
the  past  should  accept  the  statements  of 
historical  writers  as  necessarily  conveying 
historical  truth  without  taking  into  consid- 
eration the  training,  the  nationality,  the  re- 
ligion, and  the  personality  of  the  writer,  and 
knowing  from  the  date  at  which  he  wrote 
and  from  his  personal  history  the  school  of 
writers  to  which  he  belongs. 

It  might  be  well,  in  concluding,  to  dwell 
upon  the  names  of  some  authors  whose 
works  illustrate  the  ideas  that  have  been 
propounded.  It  should  not  be  necessary  be- 
fore a  Philadelphia  audience  to  name  the 
greatest  American  historical  scholar  of  the 
modern  scientific  school.  The  name  of  Mr. 
Henry  Charles  Lea  is  perhaps  better  known 
among    European    than    among   American 


84  HISTORY 

scholars,  but  his  reputation  has  been  at  its 
height  for  many  years,  and  the  results  of  his 
researches  have  profoundly  affected  the  opin- 
ions now  generally  held  both  in  Europe  and 
in  America  upon  the  subjects  to  which  he 
has  devoted  himself.  The  diligence  of  his 
labor,  the  certainty  and  accuracy  of  his 
criticism,  the  impartial  presentation  of  the 
results  of  his  labors,  have  placed  Mr.  Lea 
very  high  in  the  ranks  of  modern  historians, 
and  Philadelphia  has  the  right  to  be  proud 
of  its  eminent  citizen.  Among  writers  on 
American  history  who  have  mastered  the 
principles  of  historical  investigation  and 
criticism,  and  who  have  best  explained  not 
only  the  passage  of  events  but  the  meaning 
of  American  history,  no  writer  ranks  so  high 
as  Mr.  Henry  Adams.  Speaking  as  a  stu- 
dent of  history  who  had  never  paid  any 
special  attention  to  the  history  of  the  United 
States  before  settling  in  America,  it  is  the 
result  of  personal  experience  that  has  caused 
me  to  rank  "  The  History  of  the  United 
States  during  the  Administrations  of  Jeffer- 
son and  Madison  "  among  the  greatest  his- 
torical works  of  the  scientific  historical 
school.     Mr.  Lea  and  Mr.  Adams  can  justly 


HISTORY  85 

be  classed  with  such  men  as  Leopold  von 
Ranke  in  Germany  and  William  Stubbs, 
Bishop  of  Oxford,  in  England.  Their  skill 
in  dealing  with  their  material,  their  dili- 
gence in  discovering  and  using  primary 
authorities,  their  sure  critical  touch  and  their 
objectivity  in  presenting  the  outcome  of 
their  work  prove  that  the  methods  and  the 
aim  of  the  modern  historical  school  have 
taken  root  in  the  United  States ;  and  it  may 
be  hoped  that  they  may  rank  among  their 
followers  a  generation  of  trained  and  impar- 
tial historical  students. 

It  may  be  possible,  however,  to  make  the 
point  of  this  essay  clearer,  by  criticising  a 
great  work  of  literature  and  philosophy 
which  is  in  no  sense  of  the  word  a  history, 
than  by  dwelling  on  the  special  merits  of 
modern  scientific  historians.  It  happens  fur- 
ther that  a  certain  familiarity  with  the  sub- 
ject enables  me  to  deal  with  more  certainty 
with  this  particular  work.  The  great  liter- 
ary and  philosophical  book  to  which  I  al- 
lude, —  a  book  which  deserves  to  hold  a  per- 
manent place  in  Enghsh  literature  and  which 
has  profoundly  influenced  the  minds  of  po- 
litical  writers,  but   which  infringes  all  the 


86  HISTORY 

canons  laid  down  by  the  modern  scientific 
historian,  —  is  the  famous  work  which 
Thomas  Carlyle  entitled  "  The  French  Rev- 
olution —  A  History."  If  he  had  entitled 
it  "  The  French  Revolution  —  A  Rhapsody," 
an  accurate  idea  of  its  contents  would  have 
been  given.  Carlyle's  "  French  Revolution" 
holds  and  deserves  to  hold  its  place  as  an  in- 
teresting example  of  a  particular  sort  of  Eng- 
lish literary  style,  and  as  containing  many  in- 
teresting and  profound  remarks  on  poUtics, 
religion,  and  sociology ;  but  it  is  not  a  his- 
tory in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word,  since 
Carlyle  never  had  the  faintest  idea  of  what 
scientific  investigation,  accurate  criticism, 
impartiality,  or  objectivity  implied.  These 
are  strong  statements  and  need  to  be  proved 
one  by  one.  The  first  thing  demanded  of  a 
modern  scientific  historian  is  diligence  in  dis- 
covering and  examining  all  possible  material. 
Even  the  greatest  diligence  may  not  command 
success,  for  new  material  is  constantly  turn- 
ing up  in  unexpected  places,  and  much  mate- 
rial is  inaccessible  to  the  scholar  who  has  not 
the  means  to  travel  or  to  have  copies  made 
for  him.  Now  when  Carlyle  was  writing 
his  "  The  French  Revolution  —  A  History," 


HISTORY  87 

there  existed  in  London,  not  two  miles  from 
the  house  wherein  he  lived,  one  of  the  most 
complete  collections  of  documents  dealing 
with  the  French  Revolution  in  the  world,  the 
great  collection  in  the  British  Museum, 
which  had  heen  gathered  by  the  foresight 
and  the  labor  of  Mr.  John  Wilson  Croker. 
Carlyle  went  to  the  British  Museum  and 
asked  to  have  a  room  reserved  for  him  in 
which  he  might  study  the  documents  in  this 
great  collection.  He  was  not  then  a  famous 
writer ;  he  was  a  comparatively  young  man 
attempting  his  first  historical  work ;  but 
even  if  he  had  been  the  famous  and  eloquent 
writer  he  afterwards  became,  the  British  Mu- 
seum authorities  have  no  right  to  distinguish 
among  scholars,  however  eminent,  and  can- 
not provide  private  rooms  for  every  indi- 
vidual worker.  Carlyle  dechned  to  work 
in  the  same  room  with  any  one  else,  and 
he  therefore  deliberately  gave  up  the  idea  of 
using  the  accessible  material  that  lay  at  his 
disposal ;  in  other  words,  he  did  not  show  the 
greatest  possible  diligence  in  studying  all 
accessible  material,  and  avoided  the  vast  mass 
of  information  and  material  upon  his  subject 
which  existed  in  the  library  of  the  British 


88  HISTORY 

Museum  because  his  request  for  personal 
privacy  could  not  be  granted.  The  next 
duty  of  the  modern  scientific  historian  is  to 
treat  his  material  with  scientific  accuracy  of 
criticism.  Carlyle  was  a  great  writer,  a  hard 
thinker,  and  in  one  sense  of  the  word  a 
great  man ;  but  he  had  neither  the  type  of 
mind  nor  the  training  necessary  for  weighing 
evidence.  No  man  calling  himself  a  his- 
torian ought  to  have  been  taken  in  by  such 
a  palpable  forgery  as  the  "  Squire  Papers," 
which  Carlyle  used  in  his  "  Letters  and 
Speeches  of  Oliver  Cromwell ;  "and  that  Car- 
lyle was  so  taken  in  is  the  best  proof  of  his 
want  of  knowledge  of  one  particular  subject 
he  had  selected  for  special  work.  But  more 
eminent  men  than  Carlyle  have  before  and 
since  his  time  been  taken  in  by  forgeries, 
and  a  clearer  proof  of  his  lack  of  the  critical 
faculty  can  be  found  in  an  examination  of 
his  "  French  Revolution."  Carlyle  was  ever 
fond  of  condemning  the  "  Dryasdusts,"  as  he 
called  the  diligent  students  who  had  col- 
lected historical  material ;  he  was  ever  fond 
of  declaring  that  they  did  not  know  any- 
thing about  history  except  useless  details ; 
but  where  Carlyle  himself  had  to  deal  with 


HISTORY  89 

evidence  lie  differed  only  from  the  Dryas- 
dusts he  condemned  in  that,  even  if  it  be 
granted  that  they  showed  no  sense  of  propor- 
tion and  were  swamped  by  details,  he  han- 
dled his  evidence  according  to  his  own  pre- 
conceived ideas  or  his  own  willful  fancy. 
Carlyle's  love  of  the  picturesque  in  history 
outweighed  the  love  of  truth  he  was  always 
talking  about,  and  he  accepted  the  state- 
ments of  his  own  authorities  only  when  they 
catered  to  his  love  of  the  picturesque.  Take, 
for  instance,  his  treatment  of  one  of  the  lead- 
ing characters  in  the  French  Revolution,  the 
celebrated  "Friend  of  the  People,"  Jean 
Paul  Marat.  Carlyle  depicts  Marat  as  a 
creature  utterly  impossible  of  existence,  and 
accepting  the  libels  of  the  Royalists  writes  of 
him  as  having  been  in  1789  a  disreputable 
horse-doctor,  "  a  blear-eyed  dog-leech."  Yet 
Carlyle  used  as  his  principal  authority  and 
quotes  on  nearly  every  page  Buchez  and 
Roux's  "  Histoire  parlementaire  de  la  Revolu- 
tion Frangaise,"  in  which  ^  is  given  a  sketch 
of  Marat's  early  life,  showing  that  in  1789 
he  was  a  well-known  figure  in  the  life  of 
Paris,  who  had  enjoyed  a  considerable  prac- 
tice as  a  physician,  had  been  connected  with 

1  Vol.  28,  pp.  303,  304. 


90  HISTORY 

the  court,  and  was  well  known  in  literary  and 
scientific  circles.  But  to  Carlyle  the  blear- 
eyed  dog-leech  conception  of  Marat  seemed 
more  picturesque,  and  he  therefore  adopted 
it  without  hesitation  and  without  testing  its 
correctness.  Another  instance  of  the  same 
unhistorical  method  of  subserving  truth  to 
picturesqueness  may  be  perceived  in  Carlyle's 
treatment  of  a  still  more  famous  figure  in  the 
French  Revolution  than  Marat,  —  Maximi- 
lien  Robespierre.  Many  writers  characterize 
Robespierre's  complexion  as  bilious,  but  not 
one  has  used  the  word  verdatre  or  greenish 
in  this  connection.  Madame  de  Stael,^  in 
describing  a  meeting  with  Robespierre  be- 
fore the  Revolution,  speaks  of  his  complex- 
ion as  "  pale,"  but  adds  that  the  color  of  his 
veins  was  verte  or  green.  Barbaroux's 
"  Memoires,"  the  only  other  authority  cited 
by  Carlyle  "^  for  his  description  of  Robes- 
pierre, contain  no  reference  to  Robespierre's 
personal  appearance,  but  Berville  and  Bar- 
riere,  in  their  edition  of  the  "  Memoires,"  ^ 
insert  in  a  foot-note  an  account  of  Robes- 
pierre's personal  appearance  by  Helen  Maria 

^  Considerations  sur  la  Revolution  Franfaise,  second  edi- 
tion, vol.  ii.  p.  141. 
2  Book  IV.  chap.  4.  »  Pp.  63,  64,  foot-note. 


HISTORY  91 

Williams,  an  English  lady  who  lived  in 
France  during  the  Revolution.  In  this 
account,  Miss  Williams  makes  no  reference 
to  his  complexion,  but  says  that  he  wore 
verdatre  or  greenish  spectacles.  Carlyle 
seized  upon  the  epithet,  used  only  once  by 
only  one  writer  with  regard  to  the  color  of 
his  spectacles,  and  proceeds  to  qualify  Robes- 
pierre throughout  the  whole  of  his  rhapsody 
on  the  French  Revolution,  as  the  "  sea-green 
incorruptible."  The  masterpiece  of  narration 
in  Carlyle's  "  French  Revolution  "  is  the  ac- 
count he  has  given  of  the  flight  of  the  King, 
the  Queen,  and  the  royal  family  to  Varennes 
on  June  21, 1791.  This  narrative  is  so  vivid 
that  the  very  wheels  of  the  yellow  berhne  in 
which  the  royal  family  traveled  may  be  al- 
most heard  upon  the  roads  of  France.  But 
unfortunately  there  is  hardly  a  single  detail 
in  the  whole  of  that  most  dramatic  piece  of 
narration  that  is  true  to  fact.  Mr.  Oscar 
Browning  has  devoted  an  essay  to  a  careful 
examination  of  Carlyle's  account  of  the  flight 
to  Varennes.  He  has  not  only  carefully 
studied  the  documentary  evidence,  but  has 
gone  over  the  road  himself,  and  he  has 
shown  that  in  every   single  possible  detail 


92  HISTORY 

where  a  writer  could  go  wrong,  Carlyle  had 
gone  wrong.  Nevertheless,  Mr.  Browning 
comes  to  the  curious  conclusion  that  al- 
though all  the  details  are  wrong,  Carlyle's 
account  of  the  flight  to  Varennes  is  essen- 
tially accurate.  Instances  such  as  these  show 
how  utterly  unfit  Carlyle  was  by  tempera- 
ment to  write  history  in  the  modern  sense  o£ 
the  word.  As  a  master  of  dramatic  and  pic- 
turesque narration  he  might  in  another  stage 
of  the  world's  literature  have  been  a  great 
epic  poet ;  he  might  had  he  been  so  inclined 
have  been  a  most  picturesque  historical  nov- 
elist ;  he  is  a  brilhant  instance  of  that  theory 
of  history  which  is  defended  by  Macaulay  in 
one  of  his  essays,  where  he  makes  the  state- 
ments that  "  history  is  a  compound  of  poetry 
and  philosophy,"  and  that  "  facts  are  the 
mere  dross  of  history."  But  if  Carlyle  wrote 
history  in  accordance  with  the  older  theories 
of  the  historian's  duty,  it  yet  may  be  emphat- 
ically asserted  that  he  has  no  place  among 
the  ranks  of  the  new  school  of  scientific  his- 
torians whose  aim  it  is  to  discover  and  to 
narrate  the  truth. 

The  aim  of  the  historian  is  to  discover  the 
truth  with  regard  to  the  past,  as  far  as  his 


HISTORY  93 

limitations  allow,  and  having  so  far  discov- 
ered it  to  narrate  the  truth  without  obtrud- 
ing his  own  personality  or  his  own  ideas  more 
than  his  weak  humanity  makes  inevitable. 
It  is  a  hard  enough  and  a  difficult  enough 
task  that  the  modern  historian  sets  before 
himself.  Truth  is  a  very  unapproachable 
mistress.  The  harder  the  labor  of  approach, 
the  further  off  she  seems,  and  however  labo- 
rious and  careful  the  steps  that  may  be  taken, 
the  more  distant  seems  her  icy  throne.  It  is 
disheartening  and  heart-breaking  to  the  his- 
torical student  to  know  how  little  the  most 
accomplished  and  most  hard-working  histo- 
rian can  do  towards  building  a  palace  in  which 
Truth  may  live.  It  is  but  one  Httle  stone 
that  any  single  investigator  may  be  able  to 
contribute  towards  the  building  of  that  great 
palace ;  future  laborers,  with  wider  know- 
ledge, better  training,  and  greater  means  of 
investigation,  must  eclipse  all  that  the  most 
patient  worker  of  to-day  can  do  ;  and  he  can- 
not claim  the  place  in  literature  that  former 
historians  successfully  strove  to  win  or  that 
philosophical  historians  have  attained  in 
forcing  great  ideas  upon  the  thought  of  their 
time.      The  work  of  the  historical   student 


94  HISTORY 

must  be  its  own  reward.  His  great  encour- 
agement is  that  however  long  it  may  take,  or 
however  wearisome  may  be  the  way,  event- 
ually he  may  be  able  to  lighten  the  way  of 
some  future  laborer.  The  moment  may  come 
when  he  may  be  able  to  contribute  to  the 
great  cause  of  Truth  a  fragment  of  know- 
ledge, and  having  been  enabled  to  see  some 
small  thing  accurately  after  years  of  labor, 
he  may  be  able  to  draw  the  thing  as  he  sees 
it  and  as  it  really  is  for  the  benefit  of  so 
pure  and  unapproachable  a  mistress  as  Truth. 
The  one  reward  held  out  to  the  worker  in 
history,  as  to  the  worker  in  every  line  of  sci- 
entific investigation  or  artistic  endeavor,  is 
the  hope  that  somewhere  it  may  be  possible 
to  do  good  work  free  from  the  human  limi- 
tations that  weigh  so  heavily  on  the  true 
historian's  mind,  the  reward  of  which  the 
greatest  of  living  English  poets  speaks  in 
one  of  the  noblest  stanzas  that  he  has  ever 
written,  in  which  he  says  : 

**  And  only  the  Master  shall  praise  ns,  and  only  the  Mas- 
ter shall  blame  ; 

And  no  one  shall  work  for  money,  and  no  one  shall  work 
for  fame, 

But  each  for  the  joy  of  the  working,  and  each,  in  his  sepa- 
rate star, 

Shall  draw  the  Thing  as  he  sees  it  for  the  God  of  Things 
as  They  are  ! " 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

BY  AGNES  REPPLIER 


REFERENCES 

"  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson,  LL.  D.,"  by  James  BoswelL 

"  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,"  by  John  Gibson  Lockhart. 

"  The  Journal  of  Sir  Walter  Scott." 

"  Familiar  Letters  of  Sir  Walter  Scott." 

"  Life  and  Letters  of  John  Gibson  Lockhart,"  by  Andrew 
Lang. 

"  A  Publisher  and  his  Friends.  Memoir  and  CorresjKjndence 
of  the  late  John  Murray." 

"  The  Autobiography  of  Edward  Gibbon." 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

When  the  dying  Othello  gave  his  last  in- 
junction to  Lodovico  and  Montane, 

"  When  you  shall  these  unlucky  deeds  relate, 
Speak  of  me  as  I  am  ;  nothing  extenuate, 
Nor  set  down  aught  in  malice," 

he  offered  the  best  and  most  comprehensive 
advice  which  the  great  race  of  biographers 
and  memoir  writers  have  ever  listened  to 
and  discarded.  He  also  showed  the  touch- 
ing simplicity  and  truthfulness  of  a  charac- 
ter which  even  deception  could  not  undeceive, 
when  he  placed  this  placid  reliance  upon 
those  who  had  the  telling  of  his  tale,  after 
Death  had  forever  closed  his  lips.  How 
could  he  have  hoped  that  such  a  tangled  web 
would  be  smoothed  and  raveled  out  in  far- 
away Venice,  where  every  citizen  was  natu- 
rally counsel  for  either  plaintiff  or  defendant? 
Partisanship  —  the  spirit  of  extenuation  or 
of  malice  —  lies  at  the  bottom  of  every 
human  heart,  and  colors   every  line   which 


98  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

human  hand  has  written.  What  we  lose  in 
accuracy,  we  gain  in  interest,  and  in  the  dear 
delights  of  enthusiasm  and  animosity. 

For  half  truths,  however,  those  broken  ut- 
terances which  come  bubbling  up  the  well 
from  the  great,  unloved  goddess  whom  we 
all  unite  in  holding  below  the  water,  there 
are  no  such  mediums  as  the  memoir  and  the 
biography.  Looked  at  by  themselves,  they 
may  seem  false  and  misleading ;  but  they 
shine  with  sincerity  when  compared  to  his- 
tory, to  the  deliberate  process  by  which  long 
chains  of  events,  the  annals  of  the  centuries, 
are  turned  and  twisted,  misconstrued  and 
falsified,  until  the  historian  can  force  them 
—  or  what  remains  of  them —  to  accord  with 
his  invincible  prejudices.  In  the  Memoirs 
of  the  Due  de  Saint-Simon,  for  example,  we 
have  a  picture  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth, 
drawn  with  the  careful  animosity  of  an  am- 
bitious but  unsuccessful  courtier,  of  a  pro- 
found and  crafty  schemer  whom  the  no  less 
astute  monarch  always  regarded  with  cour- 
teously concealed  mistrust.  Naturally  Louis 
does  not  appear  to  advantage  in  these  pages ; 
yet,  nevertheless,  the  simple  narration  of 
events  day  by  day,  and  year  by  year,  gives 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  99 

US,  almost  against  the  writer's  will,  continued 
proofs  of  the  king's  patience  and  piety, 
his  unfailing  courage,  his  sagacity  and  self- 
control.  But  Mr.  Froude  and  Lord  Macau- 
lay  were  under  no  such  disadvantage  as  this, 
when  they  sat  down  to  pick  and  choose  from 
the  vast  accumulation  of  the  past ;  and  the 
pictures  we  have  from  them  of  the  hated 
Stuarts,  of  the  Queen  of  Scots,  and  of  James 
the  Second,  are  consistently  free  from  these 
side-lights  which  disturb  Saint-Simon's  point 
of  view.  The  monotonous  badness  of  Ma- 
caulay's  James  is  as  far  removed  from  the 
mere  intermittent  badness  of  Saint-Simon's 
Louis,  as  the  monotonous  goodness  of  Ma- 
caulay's  William  of  Orange  is  removed  from 
the  intermittent  goodness  of  Sully's  Henry 
of  Navarre.  The  two  memoir-writers  drew 
from  Ufe,  and  their  portraits  are  warm  with 
the  touch  of  humanity.  The  historian  drew 
from  facts  and  hearsay,  filling  in  the  outlines 
with  lights  and  shadows  of  his  own  devising. 
The  work  is  masterly,  but  the  human  ele- 
ment is  missing. 

If  the  field  of  the  biographer  be  necessa- 
rily a  limited  one,  his  compensation  lies  in 
the  intimacy  of  his  knowledge.     He  is  not 


100  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

called  upon  to  paint  a  panorama,  but  one 
little  garden  patch,  upon  which  his  eyes  con- 
tinually dwell.  The  great  march  of  events, 
the  significance  of  every  detail  which,  fitting 
into  its  appointed  place,  forms  part  of  the 
majestic  whole,  a  force  in  the  appointed  des- 
tiny of  nations,  —  these  things  are  for  the 
historian  to  grasp  and  to  interpret.  The 
chronicler  of  a  single  life,  a  single  reign,  a 
few  score  years  out  of  the  endless  flight  of 
time,  has  a  simpler  task,  and  one  which 
would  by  comparison  seem  easy,  were  it  not 
for  the  number  of  sad  failures  which  prove 
it  harder  than  we  think.  He  it  is  who  fur- 
nishes the  historian,  the  essayist,  the  novel- 
ist, with  materials  for  their  work.  Memoirs 
are  the  great  store-houses  out  of  which 
more  laborious  writers  draw  inexhaustible 
supplies.  When  we  read  Lord  Hervey,  or 
Saint-Simon,  or  Sully,  we  are  amazed  by  the 
familiarity  of  incidents  which  have  been 
many  times  repeated  since  they  were  first  set 
down  by  these  keen  observers  of  courts  and 
courtly  ways. 

I  hope  it  is  not  our  innate  and  imperish- 
able love  of  gossip  which  makes  us  so  partial 
to  books  in  which  the  author  condescends 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  101 

from  time  to  time  to  gossip  with  us.  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  the  most  popular  works  in  the 
market  to-day  are  volumes  of  letters  which 
should  never  have  been  given  to  the  public, 
biographies  of  people  whose  insignificant 
Hves  need  never  have  been  written,  and  rem- 
iniscences by  men  and  women  who  have  no- 
thing of  value  or  of  interest  to  tell  us.  We 
have  reached  a  point  of  idle  curiosity  which 
forces  into  print  every  pitiful  scrap  of  corre- 
spondence which  has  lain  sacred  —  or  forgot- 
ten —  in  the  bottoms  of  old  desks,  and  every 
five  minutes'  chat  with  people  of  distinction. 
Any  one  who  can  tell  us  how  he  dined  with 
Mr.  Lowell,  or  drank  tea  with  Mr.  Longfel- 
low, or  handed  a  chair,  when  he  was  a  little 
boy,  to  Mr.  Emerson,  makes  haste  to  narrate 
this  thrilling  incident  to  a  listening  world. 
Any  one  to  whom  Mr.  Lincoln  said,  "  Thank 
you,  sir,"  or  who  saw  Lucretia  Mott  with 
an  afflicting  cold,  or  who  can  recall  the  exact 
moment  and  the  exact  words  in  which  Mrs. 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  expressed  her  very 
high  appreciation  of  her  own  work,  is  eager 
to  take  the  public  into  his  confidence.  No- 
thing is  too  insignificant,  nothing  too  pri- 
vate, for   narration ;   and   the   people   who 


102  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

read  these  gossipy  reminiscences  are  not  with- 
out an  impression  that  they  are  cultivating 
their  minds.  There  is  a  vague  notion,  not 
formulated  in  words,  that  all  books  which 
are  not  novels  may  be  considered  educa- 
tional. 

What  the  public  craves,  the  purveyors  to 
the  public  give  with  a  generous  hand.  It  is 
not  too  much  to  say  that  the  Enghsh  speak- 
ing world  waited  with  manifest  impatience 
for  Mr.  Gladstone  to  die,  in  order  that  it 
might  hear  hosts  of  trivial  anecdotes  from 
everybody  who  ever  had  the  privilege  of 
shaking  hands  with  him;  and  that  he  had 
hardly  been  decently  interred,  before  the 
great  business  of  his  biography  occupied 
every  mind.  Lord  Rosebery  is  credited 
with  saying  that  no  single  man  could  ade- 
quately write  such  a  life;  it  should  be  the 
work  of  a  company :  which  notion  caused 
Mr.  Punch  to  wax  merry  over  the  "  Glad- 
stone Biography  Co.  Limited,"  and  revealed, 
even  to  those  who  think  little  of  such  mat- 
ters, the  distance  between  the  old  methods 
and  the  new.  The  task  assigned  to  Mr. 
Morley  will  no  doubt  be  admirably  fulfilled, 
and  the  world  of   fashion,  which  loves  to 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  103 

have  cabinet  anecdotes  dropped  into  its  lap, 
will  buy  these  sohd  sugar-plums  at  any 
price.  The  astute  counsel  of  Talleyrand, 
who  beHeved  that  all  memoirs  of  a  poUtical 
character  should  be  withheld  from  the  world 
for  two  generations,  wins  little  heed  from 
people  whose  literary  tastes  are  for  the  pri- 
vate and  the  personal;  who  thirst  to  hear 
Prince  Bismarck  revile  his  royal  master,  and 
to  whom  Mr.  Gladstone's  unhappy  relations 
with  General  Gordon  have  a  keener  interest 
than  the  whole  history  of  the  Indian  Em- 
pire. 

But  the  great  biographies  of  the  world 
have  not  been  tasks  assigned  to  successful 
competitors,  like  the  building  of  post-offices 
and  railway-stations ;  and  the  great  memoirs 
of  the  world  have  not  been  those  rushed  into 
print  to  gratify  pressing  curiosity,  and  sup- 
ply food  for  gossip.  There  was  but  one 
man  in  all  England  who  could  have  written 
Johnson's  life,  and  he  wrote  it.  There  was 
but  one  man  in  all  England  who  could  have 
written  Sir  Walter  Scott's  life,  and  he  wrote 
it.  The  result  of  this  inevitableness  is  that 
we  possess  to-day  two  masterpieces  of  litera- 
ture, of  more  value  than  a  whole  library  of 


104  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

modern  task-work,  and  better  worth  reading 
than  all  the  insignificant  Lives,  Letters, 
Memoirs,  Reminiscences,  Recollections,  and 
kindred  volumes  under  which  our  library 
shelves  are  groaning.  Now  there  is  nothing 
that  we  should  shrink  from  more  sensitively 
than  advising  people  to  read  books.  In  the 
first  place  it  savors  of  arrogance,  and,  in 
the  second  place,  of  brutality,  for  the  bur- 
den of  books  already  placed  upon  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  student  is  heavier  than  can  be 
borne.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the 
works  especially  recommended  this  year  in 
connection  with  the  University  Extension 
Lectures  would  require  a  whole  lifetime  to 
read  and  to  digest ;  —  yes,  and  a  lifetime  of 
exceptional  leisure,  to  say  nothing  of  a  very 
exceptional  intelligence,  and  confirmed  habits 
of  study.  Naturally  one  does  not  want  to 
pile  Pelion  upon  Ossa;  and  it  is  a  melan- 
choly truth,  which  might  as  well  be  recog- 
nized in  the  start,  that  most  of  the  great  bio- 
graphies and  memoirs  are  very,  very  long, 
and  that  they  cannot  by  any  possibihty  be 
abridged,  without  irreparable  loss.  There 
are,  happily,  a  few  exceptions,  a  few  little 
books  charming  as  they  are  brief.    Southey's 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  105 

"  Life  of  Nelson  "  is  a  model  of  biography  in 
miniature,  a  duodecimo  masterpiece,  in  which 
an  exquisite  sense  of  adjustment  is  shown  in 
the  selection  and  the  narration  of  events.  In 
this  Lilliputian  volume  everything  is  on  a 
harmoniously  small  scale ;  there  is  no  intrud- 
ing Gulliver  of  an  incident  to  take  up  all 
the  room  ;  and  the  style  is  marked  by  good 
taste,  simplicity,  and  an  agreeable  absence  of 
hysteria.  The  "  Life  of  Nelson  "  is  equaled 
in  conciseness  —  a  happy  conciseness  far 
removed  from  encyclopaedic  cramming  — 
only  by  Gibbon's  admirable  autobiography, 
which  any  one  can  read  in  a  leisurely  after- 
noon. What  praise  is  too  high  for  a  man 
whose  "  History  of  the  Roman  Empire  "  fills 
five  large  volumes,  and  whose  history  of 
himself  is  not  much  longer  than  a  pam- 
phlet ?  Were  Gibbon  living  now,  he  would 
compress  his  Roman  Empire  into  one  mod- 
erately small  book,  something  that  would  fit 
into  an  historical  primer,  or  "  Story  of  the 
Nations "  series ;  and  he  would  expand  his 
memoirs,  until  they  embraced  every  insigni- 
ficant incident  of  every  man  or  woman  of 
distinction  he  had  met  since  the  age  of 
five. 


106  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

It  is  not  this  mere  multiplication  of  trivi- 
alities which  makes  Boswell's  "  Life  of  John- 
son "  so  inordinately,  so  endearingly  long. 
Boswell,  indeed,  has  a  genius  for  leaving 
nothing  unsaid ;  but  every  incident  he  nar- 
rates, every  bit  of  conversation  he  repeats, 
has  a  definite  value  in  illustrating  the  char- 
acter of  the  great,  and  good,  and  supremely 
lovable  man  about  whom  he  was  writing,  and 
about  whom  we  can  never  hear  enough. 
Who  but  Dr.  Johnson  could  emerge  trium- 
phantly from  such  a  biography  as  this,  a 
biography  which  throws  a  search-light  upon 
a  man  from  youth  to  age,  which  softens  no- 
thing, conceals  nothing,  leaves  nothing  un- 
told ?  We  know  how  good  Hannah  More 
met  Boswell  when  he  was  hard  at  work  upon 
his  immortal  book,  and,  with  that  readiness 
to  ofFer  advice  which  was  ever  her  distinguish- 
ing characteristic,  said  to  him  sentimentally, 
"  I  beseech  your  tenderness  for  our  virtuous 
and  most  revered  departed  friend.  I  beg 
you  will  mitigate  some  of  his  asperities." 
Whereupon  Boswell,  with  a  wisdom  born  of 
his  supreme  fitness  for  his  task,  replied  with 
becoming  indignation  that  he  would  not  cut 
off  Dr.  Johnson's  claws,  nor  make  a  tiger  a 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  107 

cat,  to  please  anybody.  Happy  it  is  for  us 
that  the  great  Prince  of  biographers  could 
not  be  seduced  from  the  paths  of  integrity 
by  the  beguiling  voice  of  woman ;  but  think 
how  terrible  it  would  have  been,  and  what 
the  world  would  have  suffered  and  lost,  had 
our  modern  methods  been  in  practice  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,  and  had  Hannah  More,  who 
enjoyed  an  enviable  literary  reputation,  been 
solemnly  appointed  by  executors  and  lega- 
tees to  write  the  "  Life  of  Johnson." 

"A  book,"  said  the  great  doctor  tersely, 
"  should  help  us  either  to  enjoy  life,  or  to 
endure  it."  His  own  biography  does  both. 
It  is  a  tonic,  and  the  best  of  tonics,  for  mind, 
and  heart,  and  soul ;  and  it  is  also,  inciden- 
tally, a  readable  work  from  the  first  page  to 
the  last.  His  courage  shames  our  cowardice ; 
his  splendid  impregnable  common  sense 
shines  Hke  a  white  light,  dispelling  aU  the 
mist  of  absurdities  in  which  we  wrap  our- 
selves. Could  his  spirit  be  reincarnated 
once  in  every  century,  we  should  all  be  bet- 
ter and  happier,  and  we  should  escape  much 
dangerous  nonsense,  especially  that  senti- 
mental falsifying  of  motives  which  confounds 
the  seven  deadly  sins  with  the  cardinal  vir- 


108  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

tues.  Johnson's  mind,  thanks  largely  to  his 
sense  of  humor,  was  complication-proof  where 
goodness  and  badness  were  concerned ;  and 
the  reading  and  re-reading  of  his  biography 
—  the  whole  biography,  not  any  mean-spir- 
ited abridgment  or  peddling  selections  —  is 
wonderfully  efficacious  in  clearing  away  our 
spiritual  cobwebs.  If  his  relentless,  undevi- 
ating  common  sense  wounds  our  vanity,  his 
human  kindness  heals  the  hurt.  "  A  true 
brother  of  men  is  he,  and  filial  lover  of  the 
earth,"  cries  Carlyle  with  noble  enthusiasm  ; 
and,  reading  the  words,  there  comes  to  us  a 
clear  understanding  of  the  difference  between 
these  two  men  who  gave  so  much  to  human- 
ity. Johnson,  like  Sir  Walter  Scott,  was  a 
"brother  of  men,  and  filial  lover  of  the 
earth ;  "  one  to  whom  the  theories  of  social- 
ism were  odious,  but  who  practiced  in  quiet 
those  virtues  which  socialists  noisily  preach. 
Carlyle  turned  from  his  brother  men  and 
from  his  mother  earth  in  angry  scorn  of  the 
folly  he  could  not  pity,  and  of  the  wicked- 
ness he  could  not  mend.  It  came  to  him,  as 
it  came  to  Johnson,  to  be  stript  of  all  secrecy, 
all  veil  and  masque,  and  to  be  held  up  naked 
by  his  biographer  to  the  slow  scrutiny  of  the 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  109 

world.  Boswell  did  this  thing  at  the  dictate 
apparently  of  some  rare  instinct,  which  aided 
his  inferior  intelligence  and  made  him  su- 
premely fitted  for  his  work.  Mr.  Fronde's 
intelligence  needed  no  such  bolstering,  and 
received  none.  His  motives  are  unfathom- 
able, but  the  result  of  his  deed  was  the  chill- 
ing of  men's  affections,  the  withering  of 
men's  esteem.  It  is  as  difficult  to  love  Car- 
lyle  after  reading  Mr.  Fronde's  book,  as  it  is 
impossible  to  forbear  loving  Dr.  Johnson 
after  reading  Boswell.  Character,  not  intel- 
lect, insures  victory  in  the  long,  hard  battle 
of  life,  and  is  the  open  sesame  to  our  tired 
hearts.  "  Boswell's  book,"  says  Mr.  Birrell, 
"  is  an  arch  of  triumph,  through  which,  as 
we  read,  we  see  his  hero  passing  into  eternal 
fame,  to  take  up  his  place  with  those 

•  Dead  but  sceptred  sovereigns,  who  still  rule 
Our  spirits  from  their  urns.' 

Froude's  book  is  a  tomb,  over  which  the  lov- 
ers of  Carlyle's  genius  will  never  cease  to 
shed  tender  but  regretful  tears." 

It  is  possible  to  write  an  almost  perfect 
biography  without  taking  the  public  wholly 
and  unreservedly  into  confid-ence.  Lock- 
hart,  in  his  masterly  life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott, 


110  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

maintains  a  dignified  reserve,  a  decent  reti- 
cence, concerning  things  which  good  taste 
naturally  withholds  from  the  gaping  curi- 
osity of  the  world.  This  does  not  mean  that 
he  deliberately  ignores  one  side  of  Scott's  life 
while  elucidating  the  other,  in  the  fashion 
of  so  many  recent  biographers ;  nor  that  he 
eliminates  the  element  of  humanity,  and 
leaves  us  nothing  but  the  novelist  and  poet. 
When  we  read,  for  example,  the  life  of  Lord 
Tennyson,  published  by  his  son  three  years 
ago,  the  incompleteness  of  the  picture  is 
felt  from  the  first  page  to  the  last.  Here, 
indeed,  was  a  great  poet,  leading  an  ideal 
life,  remote  from  sordid  cares,  detached  from 
vulgar  ambitions,  wedded  wholly  and  unre- 
servedly to  his  art.  Here  was  a  man  stead- 
fast in  friendship,  irreproachable  in  conduct, 
his  mind  attuned  to  noble  things ;  —  with  a 
clear  judgment,  a  delicate  sense  of  humor, 
and  an  absorbing  passion  for  perfection. 
Here  was  England's  great  Laureate,  who  all 
his  life  lived  in  beautiful  places,  no  matter 
how  far  away  the  butcher  and  the  baker 
might  be,  who  read  his  poems  aloud  to  his 
friends,  thrilhng  with  fine  emotions  as  he  did 
so,  and  who  died  with  an  open  Shakespeare 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  111 

on  his  bed.  It  is  a  finished  portrait  of  the 
artist,  exquisite  in  every  detail ;  and  only 
lacking  humanity.  Boswell's  Johnson  leans 
out  from  the  London  fogs,  and  grasps  us  by 
the  hand.  Lockhart's  Scott  smiles  on  us 
from  the  fair  lawns  of  Abbotsford,  and  our 
hearts  quicken  and  grow  glad  as  if  we  really 
stood  before  that  kindly  presence.  But  Ten- 
nyson is  a  shadow  among  shadows.  There 
is  no  warmth  nor  light  in  his  son's  loving 
delineation.  Even  the  stories  told  in  these 
volumes,  admirable  though  they  be,  do  not 
illustrate  the  character  of  the  Laureate.  The 
girl  who  wrote  to  him  when  he  was  at  the 
zenith  of  his  fame,  asking  him  to  send  her 
an  unpublished  poem,  which  she  might  read 
as  her  own  at  a  picnic;  the  Lincolnshire 
farmer  who  expressed  his  disbehef  in  hell  as 
a  place  which  no  constitution  could  stand, 
are  delightful,  but  we  could  enjoy  them  just 
as  well  in  another  setting.  It  is  not  so  with 
Boswell's  multitudinous  anecdotes,  nor  with 
the  delicious  description  Lockhart  gives  of 
the  visit  to  Keswick  and  Rydal ;  of  Words- 
worth stalking  along,  spouting  his  own  poe- 
try "  very  grandly  all  the  way ;  "  and  Scott 
listening  patiently,  courteously,  kindly,  never 


112  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

making,  nor  suffering  Ms  indignant  son-in- 
law  to  make  even  the  shadow  of  an  allusion 
to  any  part  he  might  be  playing  in  the  great 
sphere  of  letters. 

It  is  no  shame  to  any  biographer  to  be  out- 
done by  Lockhart,  because  none  other  ever 
had  a  man  like  Sir  Walter  to  write  about. 
To  read  Scott's  novels  is  one  of  the  recog- 
nized pleasures  of  life  ;  a  pleasure  which  the 
wise  old  world  —  which  knows  more  than 
its  teachers  can  tell  it  —  will  never  be  lec- 
tured into  abandoning.  But  to  read  his 
biography,  to  read  his  letters,  to  read  his 
journal,  is  to  grow  in  love  with  earth  be- 
cause such  a  man  has  lived  on  it.  Lock- 
hart's  proud  and  melancholy  reserve  had 
melted  like  a  snowdrift  under  this  genial 
influence ;  and  to  him,  more  than  to  other 
men,  had  come  an  intimate  knowledge  of 
Scott's  sane  and  manly  virtues,  his  kindness, 
his  patience,  his  courage,  his  unostentatious 
acceptance  of  near  duties,  "  his  absolute  im- 
maculate freedom  from  the  literary  sins  of 
envy,  jealousy,  and  vanity."  "  As  I  sat  by 
his  side  at  table,"  wrote  Maria  Edgeworth, 
"I  could  not  believe  he  was  a  stranger, 
and  I  forgot  he  was  a  great  man."     "Sir 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  113 

Walter,"  said  his  faithful  old  servant,  Tom 
Purdie,  "  always  speaks  to  every  man  as  if 
he  were  his  born  brother."  Never  did  any 
one  preach  less  and  practice  more,  and  it  is 
wonderful  how  the  best  and  the  worst  of  us 
weary  of  precept,  and  reverence  example. 
We  hsten  with  the  faintest  stirring  of  the 
spirit  to  the  noblest  exhortations;  but  we 
are  filled  with  admiration  and  with  whole- 
some shame  when  we  remember  Charles 
Lamb  playing  cards  night  after  night  with 
his  fretful  old  father,  or  Dr.  Johnson's  un- 
faltering kindness  to  the  helpless  and  dis- 
agreeable dependents  whom  he  sheltered 
under  his  humble  roof,  or  Sir  Walter  sit- 
ting by  the  bedside  of  the  httle  hump- 
backed tailor,  into  whose  dull  and  miser- 
able life  he  had  brought  the  only  gleams 
of  sunshine.  It  is  better  to  read  these 
things  than  to  read  sermons ;  and  I  know 
of  no  incident  in  all  the  annals  of  famous 
men  more  beautiful  or  more  touching  than 
that  told  by  Lockhart  of  Scott's  last  illness ; 
how  he  lay  for  a  short  time  in  a  London 
hotel,  before  being  carried  back  to  die  at 
Abbotsford,  and  how  two  workingmen 
stopped  Allan  Cunningham  on  Jermyn  Street 


114  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

and  said  to  him  :  "  Do  you  know,  sir,  if  this 
is  the  street  where  he  is  lying  ?  "  "  As  if," 
cried  Lockhart  in  a  sudden  burst  of  pride 
and  sorrow,  "  as  if  there  were  but  one  death- 
bed in  London  ! " 

Scott's  story  has  reached  completion. 
What  Lockhart  so  well  began  was  contin- 
ued by  the  publication  of  the  **  Journal,'* 
and  of  the  "  Familiar  Letters,"  and  finished 
by  Mr.  Lang's  admirable  "  Life  of  Lock- 
hart," which  rounds  the  cycle  and  leaves 
nothing  more  to  be  told.  Never  was  chron- 
icle more  detailed ;  never  were  details  more 
harmonious.  Mr.  Lang  reaches  Lockhart 
through  Scott,  just  as  most  of  us  reach 
Scott  through  Lockhart ;  and  the  narrative 
of  one  life  involves  necessarily  the  narrative 
of  the  other.  That  Sir  Walter  should  have 
found  his  biographer  in  his  son-in-law  was 
inevitable,  and  the  result  is  a  masterpiece  of 
literature,  a  leisurely  masterpiece  which  yet 
cannot  bear  abbreviation.  That  Lockhart 
should  have  found  Ms  biographer  in  Mr. 
Lang  is  one  of  those  happy  accidents  which 
makes  us  believe  for  the  nonce  in  poetic  jus- 
tice, and  the  result  is  a  charming  book,  full 
of  delicate  sympathy  and  appreciation. 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  115 

In  these  days  when  enthusiasm  is  deemed 
misleading,  it  is  well  to  bear  steadfastly  in 
mind  a  truth  which,  like  other  truths,  is  suf- 
fering from  neglect,  —  namely,  that  no  good 
biography  was  ever  written  without  it.  Mr. 
Pur  cell's  "  Life  of  Cardinal  Manning  "  has 
recently  proved  what  needed  no  proving,  — 
that  a  book  animated  by  a  spirit  of  cold 
animosity  is,  by  the  very  quality  of  its  de- 
fects, hopelessly  alienated  from  the  truth. 
It  is  not  possible  for  us,  perhaps  it  is  not 
well  for  us,  to  subdue  our  antipathies;  but 
if  we  heartily  dislike  a  man,  we  should  not 
undertake  to  write  his  Ufe,  nor  to  edit  his 
work.  It  is  idle  folly  to  try  to  deceive 
ourselves  with  arguments  about  justice  and 
honesty.  We  may  not  be  just  and  honest 
when  we  inordinately  admire ;  we  are  sure 
to  be  neither  just  nor  honest  when  we  cher- 
ish an  aversion.  Mr.  Elwin's  editing  of 
Pope  was  a  literary  sin  as  well  as  a  literary 
blunder ;  and  the  pathetic  inadequacy  of 
task-work  was  never  more  clearly  illustrated 
than  when  Mrs.  OUphant  was  asked  to  write 
a  life,  even  a  short  life,  of  Richard  Brinsley 
Sheridan.  What  had  Mrs.  Oliphant  in  com- 
mon  with    that '  most    lovable   scapegrace, 


116  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

whose  shortcomings  were  precisely  of  the 
kind  which  women  are  least  likely  to  con- 
done? She  tried  hard  to  be  just,  but  it  is 
not  justice  that  Sheridan  asks  from  the 
world;  and  the  liberality  of  a  man  always 
in  debt,  the  wit  of  a  man  mostly  in  liquor, 
found  scant  favor  in  the  Scotchwoman's 
rigid  eyes.  Better  it  would  have  been  to 
have  borne  always  in  mind  Lord  Byron's 
admirable  advice  to  Moore,  when  the  latter 
was  meditating  his  "  Life  of  Sheridan,"  and 
felt  naturally  somewhat  daunted  by  the 
difficulties  in  his  path.  Byron  bids  him  not 
to  fear  these  difficulties,  and  not  to  make  too 
much  of  them.  "  Never  mind  the  angry 
lies  of  the  humbug  Whigs,"  he  writes  cheer- 
fully, "  Recollect  that  Sheridan  was  an 
Irishman,  and  a  clever  fellow,  and  that  we 
have  had  some  very  pleasant  days  with 
him." 

The  "  noble  poet "  was  right,  and  showed 
his  wonted  sagacity  in  literary  matters. 
These  were  the  things  to  remember.  We 
can  learn  more  about  this  "  wandering  star  " 
from  the  half-dozen  anecdotes  scattered 
throughout  Lord  Byron's  letters  than  from 
the  whole  of  Mrs.  Oliphant's  conscientious 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  117 

little  volume.  Byron  it  is  who  tells  us  the 
immortal  story  of  Sheridan's  being  found 
extremely  drunk  on  the  street  one  night, 
and  of  the  watchman's  insisting  on  knowing 
his  name ;  whereupon  the  great  dramatist  — 
never  too  far  gone  for  a  ribald  jest  —  raised 
his  head,  and  solemnly  hiccoughed  out 
"  Wilberforce."  Byron  it  is  who  teUs  us 
how  on  the  night  when  the  "School  for 
Scandal "  was  first  given  to  a  rapturous  pub- 
lic, and  the  theatre  rang  with  applause,  the 
elate  but  intoxicated  author  was  arrested  for 
making  a  row  in  the  streets,  and  locked  up 
in  a  guard-house,  while  the  gay  throngs 
driving  homeward  praised  the  wit  and  bril- 
liancy of  the  new  play.  As  for  Sheridan's 
power  to  please,  to  win,  to  charm,  it  is 
Byron  also  who  gives  us  an  apt  illustration 
of  this  in  an  amusing  letter  to  Moore. 

"  In  1815,"  he  writes,  "  I  had  occasion 
to  visit  my  lawyer  in  Chancery  Lane,  and 
found  him  with  Sheridan,  who,  after  mutual 
greetings,  withdrew.  Before  recurring  to 
my  own  business,  I  could  not  help  inquiring 
that  of  Sheridan's.  *  Oh  ! '  repUed  the  at- 
torney, '  the  usual  thing !  To  stave  off  an 
action  from  his  wine  merchant,  my  client.' 


118  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

*  Well/  said  I,  *  and  what  do  you  mean  to 
do?'  ^Nothing  at  all,  for  the  present/  said 
he.  *  Would  you  have  us  proceed  against 
old  Sherry?  What  would  be  the  use  of  it?' 
And  here  he  began  laughing,  and  going' 
over  Sheridan's  good  gifts  of  conversation. 
Now  from  personal  experience,  I  can  vouch 
that  my  attorney  is  by  no  means  the  ten- 
derest  of  men,  nor  particularly  accessible  to 
any  kind  of  impression  out  of  the  statute  or 
record.  Yet  Sheridan  in  half  an  hour  had 
found  the  way  to  soften  and  seduce  him  in 
such  a  manner  that  I  almost  think  he  would 
have  thrown  his  client  (an  honest  man  with 
all  the  laws  and  some  justice  on  his  side) 
out  of  the  window,  had  he  come  in  at  the 
door.  Such  was  Sheridan.  He  could  soften 
an  attorney !  There  has  been  nothing  like 
it  since  the  days  of  Orpheus." 

"  Great  men  taken  up  in  any  way  are  pro- 
fitable company,"  says  Carlyle ;  and  it  is  a 
comfort  to  hear  so  rigid  a  moralist  enunciate 
this  truth.  For  there  is  often  a  side  to  great 
men  which  does  not  seem  to  be  so  purely 
profitable  as  we  might  desire.  Byron  him- 
self is  far  from  edifying,  though  he  too  has 
been   supremely  happy  in   his  biographer. 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  119 

Laugh  as  we  may  at  the  extravagance  of 
Moore's  praise,  and  at  the  open  homage 
paid  by  the  grocer's  son  to  the  peer  of  Eng- 
land ;  shrink  as  we  may  from  details  neces- 
sarily detestable  ;  yet  the  sympathy  and  the 
intelligence  of  Moore  brought  him  close, 
close  to  the  truth;  and  the  more  we  learn 
about  Byron  in  these  late  days,  when  his 
star  shines  once  again  in  the  ascendant,  the 
more  clearly  do  we  recognize  the  fideUty  of 
this  loving  and  elaborate  portrait.  It  is  true 
that  no  volumes  which  held  Lord  Byron's 
letters  could  fail  to  interest,  even  had  the 
biography  been  of  the  feeblest ;  but  Moore's 
narrative  possesses  a  vital  charm,  and  the  in- 
timacy of  his  knowledge  gave  him  an  insight 
into  the  nobler  side  of  that  wayward  nature 
which  habitually  turned  its  worst  and  harsh- 
est aspect  to  the  world.  A  demon  of  per- 
verseness  ruled  Lord  Byron's  life,  foredoom- 
ing it  to  failure  ;  but  the  Irishman's  gay  blue 
eyes  saw  easily  enough  how,  through  aU  this 
insincere  misanthropy,  this  petulance  and 
irritability,  there  shone,  not  only  the  splendid 
light  of  genius,  but  the  flickering  rays  of  a 
generosity  which,  perpetually  misplaced,  could 
never  be  wholly  extinguished. 


120  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

It  is  well,  at  the  same  time,  to  bear  in 
mind  that  Moore,  although  unreservedly 
loyal  to  his  friend,  is  neither  hysterical  in 
adulation  nor  misleading  in  defense.  If  we 
turn  from  his  bulky  volumes  to  Dowden's 
*^  Life  of  Shelley,"  we  see  what  happens 
when  a  biographer  permits  his  emotions  to 
overwhelm  his  judgment.  "  Professor  Dow- 
den,"  says  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold,  "  holds  a 
brief  for  Shelley ;  he  pleads  for  him  as  an 
advocate  pleads  for  his  client."  What  is 
worse,  his  pleadings  become  at  times  so 
feverishly  sentimental,  that  we  are  lifted  from 
the  firm  and  familiar  ground  of  right  and 
wrong,  sense  and  nonsense,  and  set  swimming 
in  a  world  of  vapor.  Surely  a  life  so  full 
of  beauty,  so  instinct  with  the  noblest  im- 
pulses of  humanity,  could  bear  to  be  simply 
told.  In  fact,  a  simple  telling  is  always  best  • 
for  not  all  the  fine  writing  in  Christendom 
can  make  Shelley's  behavior  to  his  wife  and 
children  other  than  what  it  was.  It  may  be 
true,  as  Professor  Dowden  gracefully  in- 
sinuates, that  "  to  youth  swift  and  decisive 
measures  seem  the  best ; "  but  when  these 
measures  involve  the  desertion  of  a  wife, 
and  the  "  swift  and  decisive  "  departure  to 


MEMOIKS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  121 

the  continent  with  another  woman,  they  are 
not  best  even  for  youth,  even  for  the  youth 
of  a  poet.  For  "  genius  does  not  repeal  the 
Decalogue,"  and  such  deeds  offend  us  least 
when  stript  of  the  false  sentiment  which 
strives  to  hallow  them.  That  a  biographer 
should  seek  to  excuse  Shelley  by  traducing 
Harriet  is  a  refinement  of  cruelty  savoring 
of  the  advocate,  and  of  the  foul  methods  of 
the  law-courts.  Moore's  sympathy  for  Byron 
never  takes  the  form  of  defending  the  inde- 
fensible. Even  the  natural  indignation  he 
felt  at  the  cruel  silence  of  Lady  Byron, 
which  permitted  her  husband's  character  to 
be  the  sport  of  every  slanderous  tongue, 
tempted  him  to  none  of  those  generous  un- 
truths which  crumble  away  under  the  feet  of 
our  clay  idols.  It  is  strange  that  Professor 
Dowden,  who  so  highly  extols  Southey's  little 
life  of  Nelson  for  its  simplicity  and  lack  of 
sentimentalism,  should  have  ruthlessly  neg- 
lected to  practice  the  very  virtues  which  he 
commends.  Othello's  counsel,  which  he  of 
all  men  could  have  afforded  best  to  follow, 
has  fallen  on  no  deafer  ears  than  his. 

Perhaps  it  is  because  we  have  been  shown 
uninterruptedly  for  many  years  the  points 


122  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

of  view  of  the  poet,  the  novelist,  the  philoso- 
pher, the  statesman ;  because  the  biographers 
of  these  gentlemen  are  always  pointing  out 
to  us  the  supreme  importance  of  poetry,  fic- 
tion, philosophy  and  politics,  that  we  were  so 
refreshed  and  dehghted  when  the  memoirs  of 
John  Murray  were  published  nine  years  ago, 
and  we  were  invited  to  step  behind  the  cur- 
tain, and  look  at  matters  for  once  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  publisher,  of  the  great 
prince  publisher,  whose  judgment,  taste,  and 
unbounded  liberality  won  for  him  a  unique 
place  in  the  history  of  English  letters.  The 
correspondence  in  these  volumes  has  an  in- 
terest all  its  own,  embracing,  as  it  does,  letters 
from  so  many  eminent  authors  who  write  with 
the  peculiar  frankness  of  men  seeking  their 
own  gain,  lauding  their  own  wares,  and  re- 
vealing their  own  minds  with  unstinted  ego- 
tism. The  enormous  sums  paid  by  Murray 
—  two  thousand  pounds  for  the  third  Canto 
of  "  Childe  Harold,"  three  thousand  pounds 
for  "  Lalla  Rookh,"  fifteen  hundred  pounds 
for  Mme.  de  Stael's  "  Germany,"  which  no- 
body would  read — dazzled  the  literary  world, 
and  prompted  every  man  who  wrote,  or  who 
wanted  to  write  poem,  play,  or  essay,  to  turn 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  123 

to  the  great  publisher  for  assistance.  The 
letters  show  us,  as  in  a  series  of  pictures, 
the  childish  vanity  of  James  Hogg,  the 
arrogance  and  irritability  of  Leigh  Hunt, 
the  greed  of  Mme.  de  Stael,  the  bewildering 
verbosity  of  Coleridge,  the  gayety  of  Moore, 
the  petulance  —  so  quickly  repented  of  and 
atoned  for  —  of  Lord  Byron,  the  rare  mod- 
esty of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  the  inexhaustible 
self-esteem  of  Southey.  "I  was  aware," 
wrote  the  author  of  "  Kehama,"  "  that  I  was 
planting  acorns,  while  my  contemporaries 
were  setting  Turkey  beans." 

"  An  editor,"  says  Mr.  Lang  sympatheti- 
cally, "  is  engaged  in  a  kind  of  intellectual 
egg-dance  among  a  score  of  sensitive  inter- 
ests ;  "  and  a  publisher  enjoys  much  of  the 
same  difficult  diversion.  Vanity  and  irri- 
tabiUty  are  the  twin  demons  that  hold  the 
author's  soul  in  keeping,  and  they  are  the 
kind  of  demons  which  no  holy  water  will  sub- 
due. Murray's  patience,  courtesy,  and  sense 
of  humor  endured  to  the  end ;  and  now 
and  then  even  he  met  with  his  reward.  A 
young  Quaker  once  sent  him  some  poems, 
and  the  letter,  politely  declining  them,  went 
by  mistake  to  the  lad's  father,  who  bore  the 


12ft  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

same  name,  and   who   wrote   gratefully   in 
reply :  — 

Esteemed  Friend,  —  I  feel  very  much 
obliged  by  thy  refusal  to  publish  the  papers 
sent  thee  by  my  son.  I  was  entirely  igno- 
rant of  anything  of  the  kind,  or  should  have 
nipt  it  in  the  bud.  On  receipt  of  this,  please 
burn  the  whole  that  was  sent  thee,  and  at 
thy  convenience,  inform  me  that  it  has  been 
done.  With  thanks  for  thy  highly  com- 
mendable care,  I  am  respectfully  thy  friend, 

John  Procter. 

Such  are  the  compensations  of  the  pub- 
lisher. 

If  English  Hterature  be  singularly  rich  in 
biography,  it  is  to  France  we  must  turn  for 
the  great  memoirs  which  have  so  materially 
aided  history ;  which  began  with  the  im- 
mortal chronicles  of  Froissart,  the  vivid 
pages  of  Philippe  de  Comines,  the  narrative, 
so  full  of  gayety  and  grace,  which  the  Car- 
dinal de  Retz  bequeathed  to  a  delighted 
world.  The  memoirs  of  Sully  and  of  Saint- 
Simon  are  of  inestimable  value,  describing 
as  they  do   the   daily  Hves   of   Henry   the 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  125 

Fourth  and  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  the 
characters  of  the  two  monarchs  and  of 
those  who  surrounded  them,  the  faults  and 
foibles,  the  virtues  and  vices  of  prominent 
contemporaries.  Saint-Simon  is  naturally 
the  greater  gossip  of  the  two.  He  was  a 
courtier,  with  little  else  to  do  save  hoard 
and  repeat  the  unedifying  details  of  a  rather 
unedifying  court.  He  is  not,  indeed,  hope- 
lessly enamored  of  scandal  like  the  Count 
de  Gramont  or  his  chronicler ;  but  he  has  a 
hearty  relish  for  it,  and  employs  his  extraor- 
dinary powers  of  observation,  his  keen  and 
ruthless  intellect,  in  the  detection  and  expo- 
sure of  his  neighbor's  manifold  shortcom- 
ings. So  conscious  is  he  of  this  quality  in 
his  work,  that  when  he  would  fain  speak  of 
the  life  and  death  of  M.  de  Ranee,  the 
saintly  and  austere  Abbot  of  La  Trappe,  who 
was  his  personal  friend,  and  whom  he  ardently 
loved  and  revered,  he  checks  himself  after 
a  sentence  or  two,  declaring  sadly  that  it  is 
not  fit  such  goodness  and  holiness  should  be 
described  in  the  pages  of  so  profane  a  book 
as  his. 

The  memoirs  of  MaximiHen  de  Bethune, 
Due  de  Sully,  deal  with  different  matters,  or 


126  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

rather  they  deal  with  all  matters  of  any  im- 
portance at  the  period.  He  knew  life  in  its 
varying  phases,  and  he  played  an  important 
part  in  the  history  of  France.  An  indiffer- 
ent courtier,  but  a  most  loyal  servant;  a 
reckless  soldier,  a  prudent  statesman,  a  clean 
liver,  and  the  greatest  financier  in  Europe, 
he  gave  to  Henry  of  Navarre  the  unswerv- 
ing devotion  of  a  lifetime.  His  robust  can- 
dor suited  that  truth-loving  monarch ;  his 
cold  astuteness  checked  and  controlled  the 
passionate  fluctuations  of  the  King.  Him- 
self a  sturdy  Protestant,  he  yet  spared  no 
pains  in  persuading  Henry  to  accept  the 
Roman  Catholic  religion,  and  evinced  always 
the  keenest  dehght  at  his  master's  steadfast 
attachment  to  his  new  creed.  What  gives, 
indeed,  to  these  memoirs  their  peculiar  value 
and  charm,  is  the  breadth  of  the  author's 
view,  his  power  of  observation  and  analysis. 
He  has  little  of  Saint-Simon's  grace  and  vi- 
vacity ;  he  is  prolix,  and  determined  to  leave 
nothing  untold.  He  spares  his  readers  no 
detail,  either  of  a  financial  crisis,  or  of  a  cold 
in  the  King's  head.  We  know  even  the 
number  of  handkerchiefs  —  eight  and  ten  a 
day  —  which  Henry  used   under  these  cir- 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  127 

cumstances  ;  and,  indeed,  who  but  the  King 
of  France  would  ever  have  had  so  many 
handkerchiefs  at  a  time  when  they  were  not 
the  cheap  matter-of-course  Httle  articles  they 
are  now?  Sully  tells  us,  with  the  same  naive 
truthfulness,  how  hard  it  was  for  him  to 
choose  a  rich  and  influential  wife,  instead  of 
the  impoverished  young  beauty  whom  he 
loved  ;  and  how  sincerely  he  rejoiced  at  his 
own  discretion  in  selecting  the  more  soHd 
advantages.  He  married  the  heiress,  showed 
her,  he  assures  us,  "  the  tenderness  and  as- 
siduity due  to  an  amiable  bride ; "  and,  when 
she  died  a  few  years  later,  regretted  her  so 
sincerely  that  "for  a  whole  month  "  his 
heart  was  deprived  "  of  every  other  passion 
but  grief." 

Side  by  side  with  these  intimate  outpour- 
ings are  the  shrewdest  observations  ever 
passed  upon  nations  and  those  who  govern 
them.  Sully's  serene  breadth  of  vision,  his 
generosity  and  tolerance,  enabled  him  to 
grasp  truths  not  patent  to  every  eye,  not 
welcome  to  every  heart.  He  can  find  no 
words  warm  enough  in  which  to  praise  the 
splendid  generalship  of  France's  great  antag- 
onist, the  Prince  of  Parma.     His  admiration 


128  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

for  Elizabeth  of  England,  to  whose  court  he 
was  sent  on  a  secret  embassy,  did  not  in  the 
least  interfere  with  the  deep  respect  he  felt 
for  Philip  the  Second  of  Spain ;  and  there 
is  a  profound  truth  conveyed  in  his  signifi- 
cant assertion  that  Philip's  nobler  qualities, 
his  asceticism,  his  singlemindedness,  his  su- 
perb fortitude,  his  patience  and  piety,  were 
all  alike  "  lost  on  the  vulgar."  Sully  was 
himself  a  prince  of  opportunists,  one  who 
would  permit  neither  tradition  nor  religion 
to  stand  in  the  way  of  advancement ;  but 
he  respected  that  devotion  to  both  which 
made  the  King  of  Spain  the  most  isolated 
monarch  in  Europe.  For  his  own  master, 
whether  as  Prince  of  Navarre  or  as  King  of 
France,  he  bore  an  affection  which  never 
faltered.  He  built  up  Henry's  fortunes 
while  he  built  his  own,  and  he  never  hesi- 
tated to  anger  him  by  opposition,  when  such 
opposition  saved  him  from  folly.  He  knew 
the  strength  as  well  as  the  weakness  of  that 
royal  nature;  and  he  expressed  it  in  a  single 
sentence  pregnant  with  truth.  "  If  the  King 
were,  as  they  say,  a  slave  to  women,"  he 
wrote,  "  yet  they  never  regulated  his  choice 
of  ministers,  decided  the  destinies  of  his  ser- 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  129 

vants,  nor  influenced  the  deliberations  of  his 
council."  Think  what  the  English  speaking 
world  would  have  gained  if  Burghley,  who 
possessed  many  qualities  in  common  with 
Sully,  had  devoted  his  leisure  to  voluminous 
memoirs,  and  had  left  us  just  such  an  accu- 
rate picture  of  the  great  and  royal  vixen 
whom  he  served,  and  of  that  merry  England 
then  riotous  with  the  mere  joy  of  living. 

For  the  English  memoirs  that  we  know 
best,  though  of  exceeding  interest,  have 
little  that  is  joyous,  or  beautiful,  or  inspir- 
iting to  narrate.  The  wonderful  picture 
which  Lord  Hervey  has  painted  of  the  court 
of  George  the  Second  inspires  nothing  but 
disgust,  unreheved,  as  it  is,  by  the  gayety, 
the  grace,  the  almost  childish  spirit  of  frolic, 
which  makes  the  licentiousness  of  Versailles 
not  less  evil,  but  less  ugly  and  repellant. 
Perhaps  this  is  the  reason  why  Thackeray  so 
cordially  hated  Lord  Hervey,  whose  memoirs 
supplied  him,  nevertheless,  with  abundant 
material  for  "  The  Four  Georges ; "  —  with 
the  matchless  scene,  for  example,  at  the 
deathbed  of  his  most  sacred  Majesty,  King 
George  the  Second,  and  with  the  closely 
drawn   characters   of   Queen  Caroline,  and 


130  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

that  very  great  statesman,  Sir  Robert  Wal- 
pole.  Lord  Hervey  truly  admired  both  the 
Queen  and  Walpole.  He  liked  unflinching 
courage  and  strong  common  sense.  He 
liked^  in  fact,  those  useful  qualities  which 
were  of  service  to  the  state,  and  saw  no  rea- 
son why  a  Prime  Minister  should  display 
precisely  the  virtues  which  decorate  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  "  Priests  to 
pray,  and  kings  to  rule,"  said  Charlotte 
EHzabeth,  mother  of  the  Regent  d' Orleans  ; 
and  Lord  Hervey  was  of  a  somewhat  similar 
opinion.  He  was  not  disedified,  only  amused, 
when  the  Queen,  "to  save  time,"  obliged  her 
chaplain  to  read  the  morning  prayers  in  one 
room,  while  she  dressed  comfortably  in  an- 
other ;  but  he  was  wholesomely  angry,  and 
not  amused  at  all,  when  the  Commons  were 
more  than  ordinarily  shameless  in  voting 
away  the  people's  money.  "  When  shame 
comes  to  be  divided  among  five  hundred," 
he  writes  scornfully,  "  the  portion  of  every 
man  is  so  small  that  it  hurts  their  pride  as 
little  as  it  disconcerts  their  countenances  ;  " 
and  this  truism  supplies  the  keynote  of  all 
similar  situations.  Legislative  and  corporate 
bodies  will  cheerfully  stoop  to  infamies  from 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  131 

which  the  least  honorable  member  would 
shrink  in  his  own  private  capacity.  The 
blame  can  be  shifted  so  easily  from  shoulder 
to  shoulder,  that  no  sense  of  degradation 
wounds  the  sinner's  self-esteem. 

Lord  Hervey's  memoirs  are  manifestly 
ill-natured.  He  cannot  always  spare  those 
whom  he  Ukes,  and  those  whom  he  hates  he 
transfixes  with  an  unmeasured  scorn,  ex- 
pressed in  language  so  felicitous,  we  could 
not  forget  it  if  we  would.  Lyttelton  may 
have  been  an  unattractive  man ;  he  was  cer- 
tainly ugly  and  awkward  ;  but  when  Lord 
Hervey  says  of  him  that  "  every  feature  was 
a  blemish,  every  hmb  an  encumbrance,  and 
every  motion  a  disgrace,"  we  wince  at  such 
a  wanton  refinement  of  cruelty. 

Ill-nature,  however,  plays  an  equally  prom- 
inent part  in  the  more  recent  and  more  famil- 
iar memoirs  of  Mr.  Charles  Greville,  a  close 
and  pitiless  observer,  who  knew,  and  knew 
well,  nearly  all  the  distinguished  men  of  his 
day.  It  is  quite  apparent  that  Mr.  Greville 
was  restrained  by  no  sentiment  of  kindness, 
and  by  no  sense  of  respect  or  propriety.  He 
spared  neither  his  friends  nor  his  hosts.  He 
would  break  bread  at  a  man's  table,  and  then 


132  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

go  home  and  ridicule  him  in  his  journal.  He 
lacked  that  refinement  of  language  which 
alone  can  make  censoriousness  agreeable. 
We  aU  like  to  hear  our  rulers  disparaged ;  we 
like  to  hear  about  the  follies  and  faults 
of  those  high  in  power  ;  but  it  is  essential  to 
our  enjoyment  that  these  strictures  should  be 
spoken  in  a  polite  and  respectful  manner,  in 
clear  cut  words  polished  like  a  rapier,  not 
after  the  coarse  fashion  of  the  market-place. 
To  call  a  king  or  a  president  an  ass,  a 
buffoon,  and  a  blackguard  is  as  offensive  as 
to  accuse  mankind  in  general  of  vulgarity. 
We  merely  wonder,  when  we  read  such  lines, 
what  was  the  writer's  peculiar  standard  of 
good-breeding. 

Yet  if  the  Greville  memoirs  lack  grace, 
and  delicacy,  and  distinction  ;  if  their  author 
be  mainly  animated  by  a  spirit  of  animosity, 
and  by  the  vigorous  contempt  of  a  true 
Briton  for  all  countries,  creeds,  and  customs 
save  his  own,  he  has  at  least  the  merit  of 
having  written  a  supremely  readable  book. 
It  is  much  easier  to  find  fault  with  it  than 
to  put  it  down.  It  shows  us  very  clearly 
and  very  intimately  much  that  is  well  worth 
seeing.     Mr.  Greville  does  not  gossip  about 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  133 

insignificant  things ;  he  is  not  garrulous ;  he 
does  not  try  to  make  copy  out  of  trivialities. 
He  is  keen,  trenchant,  and,  if  not  witty  him- 
self, full  of  the  wit  of  others.  He  tells  de- 
lightful stories,  his  pages  are  rich  mines  of 
anecdote  about  interesting  people,  and  they 
have  vitality,  —  that  indefinable  character- 
istic which  keeps  them  fresh  for  each  new 
generation.  Their  very  aggressiveness,  the 
vanity  and  self-sufficiency  rampant  in  every 
line,  makes  them  quiver  with  life.  Be  it  re- 
membered that  Disraeli  —  no  mean  judge  — 
gave  the  palm  of  conceit  to  Mr.  Greville 
above  all  competitors,  "although,"  said  the 
Prime  Minister  conclusively,  "I  have  read 
Cicero,  and  I  knew  Bulwer  Lytton." 

In  closing,  I  can  only  say  once  more  that 
the  great  biographies  and  memoirs  are  very 
long.  They  cannot  be  read  at  a  gulp.  They 
cannot  be  abridged.  On  the  other  hand, 
they  need  not  be  read  at  all.  I  am  aware 
that  extension  lecturers  are  in  the  habit  of 
recommending  with  each  lecture  a  course 
of  reading  which,  if  followed,  would  greatly 
advance  education,  and  stimulate  the  book 
trade.  I  am  aware  also  that  life  is  short,  and 
full  of  many  duties  which  have  no  bearing 


134  MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES 

upon  our  intellectual  advancement.  Most  of 
us  have  something  else  to  do  besides  improve 
our  minds.  A  few  of  us  still  turn  resolutely 
from  conducted  tours  through  the  great 
world  of  letters,  knowing  that  it  is  not  pos- 
sible to  extend  our  friendships  right  and  left 
at  the  bidding  of  self-appointed  directors. 
We  may,  indeed,  gain  a  great  deal  of  infor- 
mation from  the  condensed  biographies  which 
have  been  provided  for  us  with  an  unstinted 
hand.  These  books  give  what  are  called  the 
salient  points  of  a  great  man's  career,  and 
they  give  them  with  admirable  brevity  and 
correctness.  There  are  people  so  constituted 
that  they  remember  these  points,  and  so  gain 
much  knowledge  swiftly.  That  they  do  not 
know  the  man  himself,  what  manner  of  man 
he  was,  matters  little.  They  know  what 
books  he  wrote,  what  battles  he  fought,  how 
many  years  he  was  Prime  Minister  of  Eng- 
land. We  may  also,  if  we  are  so  disposed, 
read  selections  from  the  world's  great  master- 
pieces, picked  out  and  arranged  for  us  by 
those  industrious  critics  who  have  kindly  con- 
sented to  act  as  nursery  governesses  to  the 
rising  generation.  Or,  if  we  are  unambi- 
tious, if  "  Lady  Vanity  "  does  not  so  much 


MEMOIRS  AND  BIOGRAPHIES  135 

as  pat  US  on  the  shoulder,  we  may  take  a  few 
books  into  our  hearts,  and  let  the  others  go. 
We  may  learn  a  Uttle,  and  cheerfully  confess 
ignorance  of  the  rest.  If,  for  example,  we 
read  Lockhart's"  Life  of  Scott,"  with  the  more 
recently  published  Journal,  and  the  Familiar 
Letters ;  if  we  then  read  Mr.  Lang's  "  Life 
of  Lockhart,"  and  the  memoirs  of  John 
Murray,  we  shall  be  fairly  well  acquainted, 
not  only  with  Sir  Walter,  to  know  whom  is  a 
"liberal  education,"  but  with  one  of  the 
most  interesting  periods  in  English  literature. 
But  of  course,  in  the  time  required  for  this, 
we  might  run  swiftly  down  the  centuries, 
under  the  personal  guidance  of  some  friendly 
man  of  letters.  It  is  after  all  a  matter  of 
choice.  One  tourist  goes  around  the  world 
with  Cook,  looks  at  all  he  is  told  to  look  at, 
and  comes  home  full  and  happy.  Another 
lingers  those  long  months  away  in  Rome, 
and,  when  they  are  over,  feels  that  he  has 
but  turned  the  first  page  of  the  Immortal 
City's  book.  We  need  not  quarrel  with  our 
neighbor's  methods,  nor  deem  ourselves  supe- 
rior because  we  choose  our  own. 


SOCIOLOGY,    ECONOMICS,     AND 
POLITICS 

BY  ARTHUR  T.  HADLEY 


REFERENCES 

"  History  of  the  Science  of  Politics,"  by  Sir  Frederick  Pollock, 
London,  1890. 

"Commentaries  on  the  Laws  of  England,"  by  Blackstone, 
London,  1765-69. 

"  Fragment  on  Government,"  by  Jeremy  Bentham,  London, 
1776. 

"Ancient  Law,"  by  Sir  Henry  Sumner  Maine,  London,  1861. 

"Wealth  of  Nations,"  by  Adam  Smith,  1776.  Edition  with 
notes  by  Thorold  Rogers,  Oxford,  1880.  Abridgment  by  Ash- 
ley, London, 1895. 

"  Principles  of  Political  Economy,  with  some  of  their  Applica- 
tions to  Social  Philosophy,"  by  John  Stuart  Mill,  London,  1848. 

"Contemporary  Socialism,"  by  John  Rae.  Second  edition, 
London,  1891. 

"  Burke,"  by  John  Moriey,  London,  1888. 

"  Social  Evolution,"  by  Benjamin  Kidd,  London,  1894. 

"  Physics  and  Politics,"  by  Walker  Bagehot,  London  and  New 
York,  1872. 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POL- 
ITICS 

It  is  the  work  of  the  biographer  or  the 
historian  to  gather  the  events  which  group 
themselves  about  some  man  or  body  of  men, 
and  trace  the  subtle  sequences  of  causation 
by  which  they  are  connected.  The  task  of 
the  student  of  political  theory,  whether  he 
call  himself  economist,  jurist,  or  sociologist, 
is  a  more  ambitious  and  a  more  perilous  one. 
His  explanations  of  political  events  must  be 
general  instead  of  specific.  It  is  not  enough 
for  him  to  correlate  the  occurrences  of  a  par- 
ticular life  or  a  particular  period.  He  must 
frame  laws  which  will  enable  his  followers  to 
correlate  the  events  of  any  life  or  any  period 
with  which  they  may  have  to  deal,  and  to 
sum  up  in  a  single  generalization  the  lesson 
of  many  such  lives  and  periods. 

This  is  the  kind  of  result  at  which  the  soci- 
ologist must  aim,  if  he  has  the  right  to  call 
himself  a  sociologist  at  all.     His  manner  of 


140    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

reaching  it  will  depend  upon  his  individual 
character.  It  may  be  in  flashes  of  genius 
like  that  of  Burke.  It  may  be  by  the  strict 
observance  of  logical  processes  like  those  of 
John  Stuart  Mill.  It  may  be  —  and  this  is 
the  most  common  method  of  all  —  by  a  pains- 
taking study  of  history  like  that  of  Aristotle 
or  Adam  Smith.  Such  a  study  of  history 
the  sociologist  is  at  some  stage  of  his  progress 
practically  compelled  to  make.  The  most 
brilliant  genius  must  verify  his  theories  by 
comparing  them  with  the  facts.  The  most 
astute  logician  must  test  the  correctness  of 
his  processes  by  applying  his  conclusions  to 
practical  life.  In  default  of  such  study  we 
have  not  a  work  of  science,  but  a  work  of 
the  imagination.  This  is  the  character  of 
books  like  Plato's  "Republic,"  like  More's 
"  Utopia,"  like  Bellamy's  "  Equality."  It  is 
to  a  less  degree  the  character  of  books  like 
Rousseau's  "  Contrat  Social "  or  George's 
"  Progress  and  Poverty."  Each  of  these  is 
a  work  of  genius ;  but  in  Plato  or  Bel- 
lamy there  is  no  historical  verification  at  all, 
and  in  Rousseau  or  George  there  is  not 
enough  of  it.  A  work  of  this  kind  is  sure 
to  be  unscientific ;  and  what  is  worse,  it  is 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    141 

almost  equally  sure  to  be  pernicious  in  its 
practical  influence. 

We  are  sometimes  told  that  these  imagina- 
tive works  of  sociology  bear  the  same  rela- 
tion to  politics  that  the  historical  novel  does 
to  history.  This  may  be  true  if  we  look  at 
them  solely  from  the  standpoint  of  literary 
art.  But  if  we  judge  from  their  moral  effect 
upon  the  reader  the  parallel  fails.  Reader  and 
author  both  know  that  the  historical  novel 
is  not  true.  It  does  not  pretend  to  be  true. 
No  one  is  in  danger  of  mistaking  "  Quentin 
Durward  "  or  "  Henry  Esmond  "  for  actual 
histories  of  the  time  with  which  they  deal. 
With  the  writings  of  political  theorists 
it  is  far  otherwise.  The  line  between  the 
picture  of  an  actual  state  and  the  picture  of 
a  possible  state  is  not  a  very  clear  one.  The 
reader  of  Rousseau  or  George  hardly  knows 
when  he  passes  from  a  description  of  real 
evils  and  abuses  to  a  description  of  imaginary 
remedies.  The  greater  the  ability  with  which 
such  a  work  is  written  the  greater  is  the  dan- 
ger of  confusion.  The  author  as  well  as  the 
reader  is  excited  by  the  exercise  of  imagina- 
tive power.  Bellamy  is  said  to  have  written 
"  Looking  Backward  "  as  a  work  of  fiction 


142    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

pure  and  simple ;  but  when  his  readers  began 
to  regard  him  in  the  Hght  of  a  prophet,  there 
was  an  irresistible  temptation  for  the  author 
to  regard  himself  in  the  same  way. 

If  a  man  can  write  literature  at  all,  the  con- 
struction of  a  work  of  political  imagination 
gives  him  a  fatally  easy  chance  to  act  as  a 
leader  of  men's  thoughts.  Plato's  "  Repub- 
lic "  was  a  far  easier  work  to  construct  than 
Aristotle's  "  Politics."  The  one  required  only 
concentrated  thought,  the  other  involved  in 
addition  a  painstaking  use  of  material.  There 
is  the  same  advantage  in  facility  of  construc- 
tion in  the  works  of  Rousseau  as  compared 
with  those  of  Turgot.  The  easily  written 
work  is  also  the  one  which  enjoys  more  read- 
ers and  which  has  more  influence,  at  least 
during  the  writer's  lifetime.  George's  "  Pro- 
gress and  Poverty  "  was  not  based  on  an  in- 
vestigation into  the  history  of  land  tenure. 
He  was  therefore  able  in  good  faith  to 
promise  his  readers  the  millennium  if  certain 
schemes  of  social  reform  were  adopted  ;  and 
readers  anxious  for  the  millennium  were  en- 
thusiastic over  the  book.  Wagner,  in  his 
"  Foundations  of  Political  Economy,"  unfor- 
tunately not  translated  into  English,  made  a 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    143 

scrupulous  investigation  of  those  historical 
points  which  George  had  overlooked,  and  he 
was  therefore  unable  to  promise  his  readers 
the  millennium.  The  consequence  is  that 
where  Wagner  counts  one  disciple  George 
counts  a  thousand.  Of  the  ultimate  disap- 
pointment and  evil  which  result  when  we 
trust  ourselves  to  unhistorical  theories  of 
politics  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  speak.  The 
work  of  poHtical  imagination  may  have  the 
same  artistic  character  as  the  historical  novel, 
but  it  has  a  baneful  practical  influence  which 
makes  it,  from  the  moralist's  standpoint,  an 
illeofitimate  use  of  artistic  resources. 

It  is  not  in  his  choice  of  subject  matter, 
but  in  the  form  of  his. conclusions,  that  the 
work  of  the  sociologist  differs  from  that  of 
the  writer  of  history.  The  man  who  aims 
at  specific  explanations,  however  widespread, 
is  an  historian  ;  the  man  who  is  occupied  with 
verifying  generalizations,  however  narrow,  is 
a  sociologist.  Bryce's  "  American  Common- 
wealth "  is  essentially  a  work  of  history. 
That  he  deals  with  a  set  of  contemporary 
events  instead  of  successive  ones  is  an  acci- 
dent of  his  subject.  He  has  taken  a  cross 
section  of  history,  instead  of  a  longitudinal 


144    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

section,  because  American  political  events  are 
better  understood  by  looking  at  them  in  the 
former  way  than  in  the  latter.  On  the  other 
hand,  Bagehot's  "English  Constitution," 
though  very  similar  to  Bryce's  "American 
Commonwealth  "  in  its  subject  and  in  its  ex- 
ternal arrangement,  is  predominantly  a  soci- 
ological work ;  and  the  same  thing  may  be 
said  yet  more  unreservedly  of  Burke's  "  Re- 
flections on  the  Revolution  in  France."  To 
Bagehot  and  to  Burke,  the  understanding  of 
Enghsh  or  French  politics  was  not  an  end ; 
it  was  rather  an  incident  in  the  discovery 
and  application  of  those  prof o  under  laws 
which  regulate  the  poHtics  of  every  nation. 

The  use  of  the  name  "  sociology  "  to  des- 
ignate investigations  of  this  kind  dates  from 
Auguste  Comte ;  its  widespread  popular  ac- 
ceptance, which  makes  it  necessary  for  us  to 
use  it  whether  we  like  it  or  not,  results  chiefly 
from  the  influence  of  Herbert  Spencer.  Many 
students  of  political  theory  regard  the  term 
as  an  unfortunate  one  ;  and  I  am  incUned  to 
think  that  we  shall  understand  the  real  scope 
of  our  subject  better  if  we  use  the  word  soci- 
ology only  under  protest.  This  is  not  be- 
cause it  is  bad  Latin,  —  though  it  is  very  bad 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    145 

Latin  indeed,  —  but  because  it  has  prevented 
the  use  of  a  much  better  term,  ethics,  the 
science  of  customs  and  morals.  The  effect 
of  calling  our  subject  sociology  instead  of 
ethics  has  been  bad,  both  on  the  students  of 
morals  and  on  the  students  of  society.  It 
has  caused  the  students  of  morals  to  follow 
old  methods  and  to  make  their  science  pre- 
dominantly a  deductive  rather  than  an  em- 
pirical one.  Instead  of  availing  themselves  of 
the  results  of  history  and  making  a  social 
study  of  those  laws  of  conduct  which  are  es- 
sentially social  phenomena,  they  have  contin- 
ued, like  their  fathers,  to  make  it  a  branch 
of  psychology.  Meantime  it  has  caused  the 
professed  students  of  sociology  to  go  too  far 
in  the  other  direction ;  to  neglect  the  help 
which  they  can  get  from  wide-awake  psycho- 
logists like  Mark  Baldwin,  whose  "  Social 
and  Ethical  Interpretations  in  Mental  Devel- 
opment "  is  really  a  profound  contribution  to 
political  study,  and  to  occupy  themselves  far 
more  with  classifying  things  which  they  see 
from  the  outside,  than  with  explaining  those 
which  they  get  from  the  inside.  Among 
people  who  have  but  a  sHght  knowledge  of 
the  methods  and  purposes  of  political  science, 


146    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

there  is  a  tendency  to  apply  the  name  "  soci- 
ology" to  every  description  of  the  actions 
of  men  in  society,  whether  scientific  or  not. 
The  story  of  a  public  bath-house,  the  collec- 
tion of  a  few  wage  statistics,  or  the  scheme  for 
a  new  method  of  measuring  criminals  are  all 
described  as  studies  in  sociology ;  and  the  ob- 
server, who  has  perhaps  collected  a  little  ma- 
terial for  the  future  historian,  is  deluded  by 
the  high-sounding  name  into  the  belief  that 
he  has  done  more  truly  scientific  work  than 
Gibbon  or  Mill.  Nor  do  the  really  scientific 
sociologists  wholly  escape  the  baleful  influ- 
ence of  a  name  which  tends  to  separate  their 
field  so  widely  from  that  of  the  moralists. 
It  leads  them  to  make  their  science  a  branch 
of  anthropology  ;  to  deal  with  men  chiefly  in 
masses ;  to  give  disproportionate  importance 
to  the  study  of  prehistoric  races  just  because 
they  are  so  readily  looked  at  in  this  way. 
Even  if,  hke  Bastian  or  Giddings,  we  give 
just  importance  to  the  development  of  men- 
tal processes,  as  distinct  from  physical  ones, 
we  are  prone  to  begin  at  a  point  so  remote 
from  our  own  that  we  are  unable  to  test  the 
correctness  of  our  descriptions. 

Thus  it  has  come  to  pass  that  there  is  in 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    147 

the  popular  mind  not  only  a  separation  but 
an  antithesis  between  ethics,  which  deals 
with  the  profounder  instincts  derived  from 
our  consciousness,  and  the  various  branches 
of  sociology,  —  law,  economics,  politics,  — 
whose  study  and  whose  precepts  are  empiri- 
cal. This  way  of  looking  at  things  is  fun- 
damentally wrong.  All  good  sociological 
work  has  a  profoundly  ethical  character. 
Aristotle,  Hobbes,  Rousseau,  Blackstone, 
Adam  Smith,  not  to  mention  a  score  of 
scarcely  less  distinguished  writers,  obtained 
their  hold  upon  the  public  by  the  light 
which  they  threw  upon  ethical  difficulties 
and  moral  problems.  Their  sociological 
work  has  sometimes  been  based  on  good 
ethics  and  sometimes  on  bad  ethics ;  in  fact, 
its  ethics  has  generally  been  good  or  bad 
according  to  the  greater  or  less  completeness 
of  the  historical  study  which  has  preceded 
it.  But  some  powerful  ethical  reasoning  it 
has  contained  and  must  contain  in  order  to 
secure  a  hold  on  mankind.  It  must  explain 
men's  mental  and  moral  attitude  toward 
each  other.  Sociology  is  ethics,  and  ethics 
is  sociology.  The  apparent  opposition  be- 
tween the  two  is  the  result  of  deductive  sci- 
entific methods  on  one  side  or  the  other. 


148    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

We  have  now  defined  the  limits  of  our 
subject.  We  are  seeking  to  gain  a  general 
view  of  that  literature  which  is  based  upon 
history,  expresses  its  conclusions  in  general 
laws,  and  seeks  to  explain  men's  moral  con- 
duct as  members  of  society.  The  successful 
investigations  in  this  field  fall  under  three 
groups  :  law,  economics,  and  politics.  The 
first  seeks  to  explain,  criticise,  and  justify 
the  judicial  relations  of  mankind  as  deter- 
mined by  the  necessities  of  public  security ; 
the  second  their  commercial  relations  as  de- 
termined by  the  necessities  of  business ; 
while  the  third,  as  yet  in  its  infancy,  at- 
tempts to  consider  their  political  and  moral 
relations  as  members  of  a  civil  society  in 
whose  government  they  have  a  share. 

The  principles  of  law  were  of  course  for- 
mulated at  a  very  early  period.  First  we 
have  codes  of  procedure,  like  the  Twelve 
Tables  of  Rome ;  then  we  have  formal  rules 
of  conduct  which  will  be  enforced  by  the 
civil  authority ;  still  later  we  have  judicial 
decisions  and  legal  text-books  indicating  the 
methods  in  which  these  traditional  rules  are 
applied  to  new  cases.  But  none  of  these  is 
literature.     Legal  literature,  in  the  broader 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    149 

sense,  may  be  said  to  begin  when  we  en- 
deavor to  explain  the  relations  between  the 
rules  of  law  and  the  principles  of  natural 
justice  accepted  by  the  conscience  of  the 
community.  The  two  greatest  modern  works 
of  law,  Blackstone's  "  Commentaries "  in 
England  and  Savigny's  "System  of  the 
Roman  Law  of  To-day "  in  Germany,  both 
owe  their  power  to  this  underlying  idea. 
Not  that  it  is  obtruded  upon  the  reader,  but 
that  it  is  held  in  reserve  as  a  vivifying  force. 
Blackstone  is  distinguished  from  "Coke 
upon  Littleton,"  not  in  being  a  greater 
legal  authority,  —  for,  technically  speaking, 
"  Coke  upon  Littleton  "  is  legal  authority 
while  Blackstone  is  not,  —  but  because 
Blackstone  wrote  a  work  for  the  public  and 
not  for  the  lawyers ;  a  work  which  put  all 
English-speaking  gentlemen  in  touch  with 
the  common  law,  and  made  it,  not  an  instru- 
ment of  professional  success,  but  a  part  of 
the  reader's  life.  The  ethical  character  man- 
ifest in  Blackstone's  writings  is  from  the 
necessity  of  the  case  even  more  saliently 
developed  in  the  works  of  the  international 
lawyers,  and  most  of  all  in  their  great  leader 
Grotius.     For    international   law   rests    not 


150    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

upon  the  authority  of  a  superior  who  has  the 
physical  force  to  make  his  commands  re- 
spected, but  on  the  common  sense  and  com- 
mon consent  of  the  parties  in  interest.  A 
treatise  on  international  law  is  therefore  in 
the  highest  sense  a  treatise  on  ethics, — 
ethics  put  to  the  test  of  practice,  and  veri- 
fied or  rejected  by  history. 

But  profound  as  is  the  harmony  between 
law  and  justice  in  civilized  nations,  the  oc- 
casional dissonance  is  on  that  ground  all 
the  more  marked.  These  dissonances  have 
therefore  occupied  a  large  attention  among 
those  who  studied  the  relations  between  law 
and  ethics.  What  gives  authority  to  cer- 
tain principles  which  we  call  law,  more  or 
less  independent  of  those  other  principles 
which  we  call  justice?  It  was  Hobbes  who, 
in  his  "  Leviathan,"  first  undertook  a  system- 
atic answer  to  this  question,  and  developed 
the  theory  of  the  social  compact  which,  for 
good  or  ill,  has  formed  the  subject  of  so 
many  political  controversies.  According  to 
Hobbes,  a  state  of  nature  is  for  mankind  a 
state  of  anarchy.  To  avoid  the  intolerable 
evils  of  this  condition,  governments  have 
been  established  for  the  purpose  of  giving 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    151 

security.  As  long  as  a  government  does,  in 
fact,  give  such  security,  it  performs  its  part 
of  the  compact  under  which  it  was  estab- 
lished; and  its  subjects,  as  representatives 
of  the  other  party  to  such  a  compact,  are 
bound  to  obey  its  ordinances.  The  evils  of 
anarchy  were,  in  Hobbes*s  view,  so  great  that 
no  approximation  to  the  enforcement  of  jus- 
tice could  be  obtained  except  under  such  a 
surrender  of  personal  rights  and  opinions  as 
was  implied  in  his  fiction  of  the  social  com- 
pact. 

In  the  hands  of  Hobbes  this  doctrine  was 
a  conservative  force.  It  justified  men  in 
keeping  quiet  under  evils  against  which 
their  moral  sense  would  otherwise  have  led 
them  to  revolt.  But  in  the  century  follow- 
ing Hobbes,  Locke  and  Rousseau  made  a 
use  of  the  social  compact  theory  of  which  its 
author  never  dreamed,  —  a  use  which  made 
it  not  a  conservative  but  a  revolutionary 
power,  —  a  use  which  reintroduced  into  poli- 
tics and  into  law  those  discussions  of  natural 
justice  which  it  had  been  Hobbes's  aim  to 
exclude.  For  Rousseau  denied  emphatically 
that  the  government  had  fulfilled  its  part  of 
the  contract  with  the  people  when  it  simply 


152    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

maintained  a  state  of  public  security.  It 
was  not  enough  to  govern,  it  must  govern 
well ;  it  must  not  merely  repress  positive  dis- 
order, but  promote  that  justice  and  that  hap- 
piness which  the  collective  public  opinion 
of  the  community  demanded.  The  govern- 
ment, as  Rousseau  regarded  it,  was  a  trustee 
for  the  people,  pledged  and  required  to  pur- 
sue popular  happiness,  and  forfeiting  its 
trust  the  moment  it  used  it  for  any  other 
purpose.  It  was  on  these  views  of  Locke 
and  Rousseau  that  the  authors  of  the  De- 
claration of  Independence  based  their  politi- 
cal doctrines.  It  was  on  these  views  that 
the  French  Revolution  was  founded,  and  in 
the  exaggeration  of  these  views  that  its 
excesses  were  committed. 

But  just  at  the  time  when  this  idea  of  the 
social  compact  was  most  widely  influential 
in  practice,  it  received  its  deathblow  as  a 
theory.  With  marvelously  acute  analysis, 
Bentham,  in  his  "  Fragment  on  Govern- 
ment," proved  that  there  was  neither  histori- 
cally nor  logically  any  such  thing  as  a  social 
compact.  Government,  according  to  Ben- 
tham, derives  its  authority,  not  from  an  an- 
cient promise  to  give  public  security,  nor  from 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    153 

a  long  standing  trusteeship  in  behalf  of  the 
people,  but  from  the  habitual  obedience  of 
its  subjects.  Where  such  habitual  obedience 
exists,  there  is  government.  The  accredited 
acts  of  such  a  government  are  lawful, 
whether  they  conform  to  the  ideas  of  natu- 
ral justice  in  any  individual  case  or  not.  If 
these  acts  are  habitually  contrary  to  the 
people's  sense  of  justice,  discontent  will  cul- 
minate in  revolution,  and  then  the  govern- 
ment will  be  changed  so  that  another  au- 
thority and  another  set  of  laws  will  come 
into  being.  But  the  second  government, 
like  the  first,  derives  its  authority  from  the 
fact  of  being  able  to  exercise  its  power. 
Any  rights  which  Hobbes  might  deduce 
from  a  supposed  agreement  by  which  it  was 
brought  into  being,  or  any  Hmitations  on  its 
authority  which  Rousseau  might  deduce  from 
a  similar  hypothesis,  are  both  alike  fictitious. 
Such  was  the  ground  taken  by  Bentham ; 
and  he  has  been  followed  by  almost  all  Eng- 
lish and  American  writers  who  deal  with 
law  from  a  professional  standpoint.  But 
there  has  very  recently  been  a  tendency  to 
react  from  this  extreme  view  and  to  take 
a  middle   ground  between  the  position   of 


164    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

Bentham  and  Hobbes.  For  while  it  is  un- 
doubtedly true  that  people  habitually  obey 
a  government,  and  that  its  authority  is  in 
fact  based  on  this  habitual  obedience,  it  is 
also  true  that  they  obey  cheerfully  only 
within  certain  limits  set  by  public  opinion, 
and  that  beyond  those  limits  they  defeat  the 
governmental  authority,  not  by  a  revolution, 
but  by  the  quieter  process  of  nullification. 
The  same  habit  which  establishes  the  gov- 
ernment establishes  bounds  within  which  it 
regards  the  authority  of  that  government  as 
salutary,  and  beyond  which  it  will  not  en- 
courage or  even  allow  the  government  to 
go.  This  view  was  foreshadowed  by  Burke 
in  some  of  the  noblest  of  his  political  ora- 
tions. It  was  applied  historically  by  Sir 
Henry  Maine  in  his  studies  of  Indian  village 
communities.  It  has  received  vigorous  sup- 
port from  Herbert  Spencer  in  his  brilliant 
collection  of  essays,  "The  Man  versus  the 
State."  In  America,  where  the  extreme  views 
of  Bentham  have  never  enjoyed  the  un- 
questioned authority  which  they  possessed 
in  England,  even  professional  lawyers  like 
Abbott  Lawrence  Lowell  have  developed 
theories  of  law  and  government  based  on  this 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    155 

view.  It  only  remains  for  some  man  of 
genius  to  summarize  the  conclusions  of  these 
scattered  works,  and  to  develop  a  theory  of 
the  relations  between  law  and  justice  which 
shall  do  for  the  students  of  our  day  what 
Aristotle  did  for  those  of  two  thousand 
years  ago. 

The  study  of  economics,  or  principles  of 
commerce,  began  much  later  than  the  study 
of  law.  The  recognition  of  the  ethical 
character  of  governments  antedated  by  at 
least  two  thousand  years  the  recognition  of 
the  ethical  character  of  commerce.  Those 
who  look  at  business  operations  from  the 
outside,  as  most  of  the  early  writers  did,  re- 
gard them  as  presumably  immoral ;  as  bear- 
ing the  same  relations  to  the  principles  of 
justice  which  the  thief  bears  to  the  police- 
man. Aristotle,  Cicero,  Aquinas,  are  all 
actuated  by  this  idea.  It  was  reserved  for 
Adam  Smith  to  develop  a  philosophy  of 
business  which  was  in  the  highest  and  best 
sense  of  the  word  a  moral  philosophy. 
There  have  been  a  good  many  needless  in- 
quiries as  to  the  reasons  which  make  the 
"  Wealth  of  Nations  "  superior  in  merit  and 
influence  to  the  many  other  acute  economic 


156    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

writings  in  the  latter  part  of  the  last  cen- 
tury. The  answer  to  these  inquiries  is  a 
simple  one.  It  was  because  Smith  presented 
clearly  to  the  reader  the  essentially  moral 
character  of  business  under  modern  condi- 
tions. His  predecessors  had  generally 
thought  of  trade  as  a  bargain,  as  a  contest 
between  buyer  and  seller,  where  the  more 
skillful  and  more  unscrupulous  party  gained 
the  advantage  over  the  other.  Smith  showed 
how  under  free  competition  the  self-interest 
of  the  several  parties,  inteUigently  pursued, 
conduced  to  the  highest  advantage  of  the 
community.  Did  high  prices  prevail?  It  was 
a  symptom  of  scarcity.  If  we  forbade  the 
seller  to  take  advantage  of  that  scarcity,  we 
perpetuated  the  evil.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
we  invited  other  sellers  to  compete  with  him, 
we  directed  the  industrial  forces  of  the  com- 
munity to  the  point  where  they  are  most 
needed ;  we  relieved  the  scarcity  of  which 
the  high  price  is  but  a  symptom,  and  at  com- 
paratively small  expense  to  society  effected  a 
lasting  cure.  There  is  not  time  to  develop 
this  theory  of  Smith's  in  all  its  varied  appli- 
cations, or  to  show  how,  under  the  marvelous 
adjustments  of  modern  business,  price  tends 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    157 

to  adjust  itself  to  cost,  and  cost  to  be  re- 
duced to  such  a  degree  as  to  give  the  various 
members  of  the  community  the  maximum  of 
utility  with  the  minimum  of  sacrifice.  That 
Smith  saw  this  truth,  was  his  fundamental 
merit.  That  he  was  the  first  to  see  it  in 
anything  like  its  full  scope,  that  he  had  the 
power  to  verify  it,  the  candor  to  recognize  its 
limits,  the  vigorous  English  in  which  to  com- 
municate his  ideas  to  others,  are  facts  which 
give  the  "  Wealth  of  Nations  "  the  place  it 
deservedly  holds  in  science  and  in  literature. 
Not  in  economic  science  only,  but  in  the 
whole  field  of  morals  have  we  learned  from 
Adam  Smith  to  expect  a  harmony  of  inter- 
ests between  the  enlightened  self-interest  of 
the  individual  and  the  public  needs  of  the 
community.  The  fact  that  the  completeness 
of  this  harmony  has  been  exaggerated  by 
subsequent  writers  does  not  detract  from  the 
merit  of  its  discoverer,  but  rather  is  a  testi- 
mony to  his  power. 

Of  course  Smith's  economic  principles 
were  widely  called  in  question  and  vigor- 
ously debated.  Some  rejected  his  views  al- 
together. Out  of  this  rejection  came  the 
socialist  controversy.     Others  held  that  his 


158    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

principles  of  commerce  were  true  as  between 
individuals,  but  not  as  between  nations  ;  that 
in  the  latter  case  we  necessarily  had  a  bar- 
gain and  a  contest  rather  than  a  competi- 
tion, a  conflict  of  interests  rather  than  a 
harmony.  Out  of  this  grew  the  protection- 
ist controversy.  The  whole  problem  of  pro- 
tection is  so  interwoven  with  difficult  points 
in  the  theory  of  taxation  that  the  best  dis- 
cussion of  the  subject  is  often  highly  tech- 
nical, and  scarcely  belongs  to  the  domain  of 
literature.  But  it  would  be  wrong,  in  the 
city  of  Philadelphia,  to  give  a  review  of 
economic  writing  which  should  pass  over  in 
silence  the  honored  name  of  Henry  C.  Carey, 
who  alone,  perhaps,  among  protectionist 
writers  meets  the  points  of  Adam  Smith 
with  a  moral  purpose  not  less  profound  than 
that  of  his  opponent. 

The  socialist  controversy  belongs  in  far 
larger  degree  to  the  domain  of  literature. 
For  half  a  century  succeeding  Adam  Smith 
the  benefits  of  increased  competition  were  so 
great  that  all  classes  joined  in  demanding 
the  removal  of  barriers  against  trade.  But 
by  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century  it 
had  become    quite    evident   that   universal 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    159 

happiness  was  not  to  be  obtained  in  this 
way.  Under  the  influence  of  Malthus  many 
of  the  professed  economists  said  that  it  was 
useless  to  strive  in  that  direction  ;  that  with 
an  increase  of  population  misery  must  be  the 
lot  of  the  larger  part  of  mankind.  Such 
views  aroused  a  reaction  against  commercial- 
ism. The  literature  of  this  reaction  falls 
into  two  groups,  —  that  of  the  Christian  or 
conservative  socialists,  represented  in  Eng- 
lish by  Carlyle,  Kingsley,  and  Ruskin,  and 
that  of  the  social  democracy,  whose  great 
leaders  in  literature  as  well  as  in  politics 
were  Lassalle  and  Marx.  The  work  of  the 
Christian  socialists  has  given  us  some  charm- 
ing examples  of  literary  art.  For  the  most 
part,  however,  the  history  of  this  school  il- 
lustrates the  danger  of  attempts  to  write  on 
sociology  without  the  necessary  historical 
study.  When  it  came  to  practical  ques- 
tions the  Christian  socialists  as  a  body  were 
found  on  the  side  of  the  slaveholder  and  the 
tyrant.  Actual  progress  in  emancipation 
came  from  the  cautious  and  somewhat  pessi- 
mistic student  like  Mill  or  Bright,  who  saw 
the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  reform,  rather 
than   from   the    man   to  whom   impatience 


160    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

seemed   a  virtue   and  idealism  a  substitute 
for  history. 

Lassalle  and  Marx  deserve  far  more  atten- 
tion. Lassalle's  works  have  not  been  trans- 
lated into  English,  and  those  of  Marx  are 
too  voluminous  and  too  abstruse  for  the  gen- 
eral reader ;  but  a  good  account  of  their 
character  and  influence  can  be  found  in 
Rae's  "  Contemporary  Socialism."  Lassalle 
•was  primarily  a  student  of  history,  Marx  a 
critic  of  actual  business  conditions.  Las- 
salle thought  that  he  discovered  a  law  of 
historical  evolution  by  which  the  control  of 
business  was  moving  farther  and  farther 
down  among  the  masses  of  the  people. 
Adam  Smith's  work  represented  to  him  a 
period  of  transition  from  a  narrower  to  a 
broader  economy.  It  had  the  merit  of  tak- 
ing business  out  of  the  hands  of  the  privi- 
leged classes.  It  had  the  demerit  of  incom- 
pleteness, in  that  it  left  it  in  the  hands  of 
the  property-owners.  The  evils  of  this  in- 
complete work  were  accentuated  —  and  over- 
accentuated — by  Lassalle  and  Marx  and  their 
followers.  Starting  from  the  Aristotelian 
dogma  that  value  is  based  on  labor,  Marx 
showed  that  the  laborer  did  not  get  at  pre- 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    161 

sent  all  the  product,  but  only  a  part  of  it ; 
and  he  held  that  the  other  part,  kept  back 
from  the  laborer,  represented  legalized  rob- 
bery. 

Of  the  great  ability  of  these  writers  and 
of  their  importance  in  the  world's  literature 
there  can  be  no  doubt.  In  intellectual  bril- 
liancy they  were  probably  superior  to  their 
greatest  contemporary  among  the  defenders 
of  the  existing  order,  —  John  Stuart  Mill. 
Their  failure  was  the  result  of  a  faulty 
method.  Instead  of  starting  from  histori- 
cal facts  and  working  out  towards  explana- 
tions, they  started  with  a  principle  of  deduc- 
tive ethics,  that  labor  was  necessarily  the 
source  of  value.  It  was  not  in  intellectual 
acuteness  that  they  failed  by  comparison 
with  Adam  Smith,  but  in  the  intrinsic  weak- 
ness of  purely  deductive  methods  for  deal- 
ing with  social  phenomena.  And  it  was 
just  by  knowing  when  to  abandon  these 
methods  that  John  Stuart  Mill  succeeded. 
It  is  the  fashion  nowadays  to  criticise  Mill's 
economic  writings  unsparingly,  to  say  that 
he  carried  nothing  out  to  its  logical  conclu- 
sion, that  he  used  neither  the  relentless  logic 
of  the  last  century  nor  the  Darwinian  meth- 


162    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

ods  of  the  present.  Yet  Mill  was  greater 
than  his  critics.  He  had  a  profound  con- 
ception of  the  importance  of  his  subject  in 
its  moral  aspects.  He  had  a  wide  knowledge 
of  facts.  He  had  infinite  industry  in  test- 
ing those  facts.  The  very  incompleteness 
of  his  conclusions,  which  has  been  made  a 
subject  of  complaint  against  him,  was  the 
result  of  that  candor  which  would  not  allow 
him  to  deal  unscrupulously  with  facts  that 
interfered  with  his  theories.  Great  in  the 
sense  of  Adam  Smith  he  probably  was  not, 
at  any  rate  as  an  economist,  for  he  devel- 
oped no  new  truths  of  wide-reaching  impor- 
tance. His  work  was  not  a  work  of  seed- 
time, but  a  work  of  harvest.  It  was  his  to 
gather  and  store  for  use  the  fruit  which 
Adam  Smith  had  sown. 

But  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century 
witnessed  the  beginnings  of  a  political  science 
wider  than  the  study  of  law  or  the  study 
of  economics.  Men's  minds  were  no  longer 
satisfied  with  analyzing  the  relations  between 
law  and  justice  or  between  commerce  and 
justice.  They  demanded  to  know  what  was 
that  justice  itself,  and  who  made  it.  The 
Catholic  theory  that  it  was  made  by  the 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    163 

Church,  and  the  Protestant  theory  that  each 
man  made  it  for  hunself,  were  found  to  be 
equally  inadequate  for  explaining  historical 
events.  We  needed  a  broader  science  of 
poUtics,  which  should  explain  the  social 
structure  and  the  public  opinion  which  held 
it  together,  — the  political  entity,  of  which 
law  was  but  one  manifestation  and  business 
another. 

The  problem  was  not  a  new  one.  Men 
had  tried  to  solve  it  in  all  ages  ;  and  at  least 
four  attempts  had  been  made  which  possessed 
great  merit,  whether  viewed  from  the  stand- 
point of  scientific  care,  of  literary  form,  or  of 
practical  influence.  These  were  the  "PoK- 
tics "  of  Aristotle,  at  the  culmination  of 
Greek  thought;  the  "Republic"  of  Jean 
Bodin,  at  the  close  of  the  Middle  Ages  ;  the 
"  Spirit  of  the  Laws  "  of  Montesquieu,  in  the 
literary  movement  which  preceded  the  French 
Revolution,  and  the  "  Philosophy  of  History 
and  Law  "  of  Hegel.  It  was  the  method  of 
analysis  which  was  new.  The  Darwinian 
theory,  with  its  doctrine  of  survival  and  elim- 
ination, gave  us  a  means  of  explaining  politi- 
cal evolution  which  our  ancestors  had  not 
possessed.    Crude  as  were  the  first  efforts  in 


164    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

its  application,  and  incomplete  as  are  the  re- 
sults even  now  attained,  it  represents  a  new 
power  in  political  and  moral  study.  In  one 
sense  it  was  not  really  new ;  for  orators  like 
Burke  and  Webster  and  Lincoln  were  apply- 
ing to  the  problems  of  practical  statesmanship 
those  conceptions  of  evolution  and  struggle 
and  survival  which  we  associate  with  the  name 
of  Darwin.  But  the  growth  of  the  modern 
science  of  biology  has  had  a  profound  in- 
fluence on  the  science  and  literature  of  poli- 
tics; and  those  ideas  which  a  century  or 
even  a  half  century  ago  were  but  the  occa- 
sional inspirations  of  our  men  of  genius,  are 
now  being  systematized  and  developed  in  all 
directions.  They  form  the  background  of 
books  like  Kidd's  "  Social  Evolution "  or 
Fiske's  "  Destiny  of  Man ; "  they  are  re- 
flected in  almost  every  page  of  the  political 
essays  of  John  Morley ;  they  are  made  the 
basis  of  scientific  studies  as  diverse  as  those 
of  Spencer,  Giddings,  and — best  of  all — 
Bagehot,  whose  "  Physics  and  Politics  "  per- 
haps represent  the  high-water  mark  of  con- 
structive attainment  in  this  field  of  literary 
and  scientific  activity.  Not  that  Bagehot's 
work  is  in  any  sense  final ;  the  great  book 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    165 

to  which  future  generations  shall  refer  as 
marking  an  epoch  in  this  progress  remains 
yet  to  be  written. 

But  though  we  cannot  yet  point  to  any 
such  culminating  achievement,  we  can  indi- 
cate with  much  precision  the  fundamental 
ideas  which  modern  political  science  is  follow- 
ing, —  the  lines  of  development  — 

"  Where  thought  on  thought  is  piled  till  some  vast  mass 
Shall  loosen,  and  the  nations  echo  round." 

The  first  of  these  fundamental  ideas  is 
that  of  race  character.  Each  social  group 
—  horde,  tribe,  or  nation  —  has  its  type  of 
personal  development.  The  habits  of  the 
race  limit  the  activity  of  the  individual.  In- 
stitutions, religions,  philosophies  of  life  and 
conduct,  are  but  the  expressions  of  this  race 
type.  This  is  what  is  really  meant  by  say- 
ing that  society  is  an  organism.  The  men 
who  first  made  this  expression  popular,  like 
Spencer,  tended  to  carry  too  far  this  ana- 
logy to  a  biological  organism,  and  to  study 
the  processes  of  social  nutrition  rather  than 
those  of  social  psychology.  But  this  error 
is  largely  a  thing  of  the  past.  The  success 
of  a  book  Hke  Kidd's  "  Social  Evolution,"  in 
spite  of  the  vagueness  or  crudeness  of  many 


166    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

of  its  parts,  shows  how  eagerly  people  are 
looking  for  a  science  which  shall  lay  stress 
on  explaining  their  beliefs  and  moral  charac- 
teristics rather  than  their  visible  organiza- 
tion. 

A  second  fundamental  idea  is  that  this 
race  character  is  but  the  record  of  the  past 
history  of  the  people;  embodying  itself  in 
habits  of  action  which  are  a  second  nature  to 
the  individuals  that  compose  it.  "  In  every 
man,"  says  Morley,  "  the  substantial  founda- 
tions of  action  consist  of  the  accumulated 
layers,  which  various  generations  of  ances- 
tors have  placed  for  him.  The  greater  part 
of  our  sentiments  act  most  effectively  when 
they  act  most  mechanically."  Or  to  quote 
the  noble  passage  in  Burke  which  suggested 
this  utterance  of  Morley :  "  We  are  afraid 
to  put  men  to  live  and  trade  each  on  his  own 
private  stock  of  reason,  because  we  suspect 
that  this  stock  in  each  man  is  small,  and 
that  the  individuals  would  do  better  to  avail 
themselves  of  the  general  bank  and  capital 
of  nations  and  of  ages.  Many  of  our  men 
of  speculation,  instead  of  exploding  general 
prejudices,  employ  their  sagacity  to  discover 
the  latent  wisdom  which  prevails  in  them. 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    167 

If  they  find  what  they  seek,  and  they  seldom 
fail,  they  think  it  more  wise  to  continue  the 
prejudice  with  the  reason  involved,  than  to 
cast  away  the  coat  of  prejudice,  and  to 
leave  nothing  but  the  naked  reason  :  because 
prejudice  with  its  reason  has  a  motive  to 
give  action  to  that  reason,  and  an  affec- 
tion which  will  give  it  permanence.  .  .  . 
Prejudice  renders  a  man's  virtue  his  habit, 
and  not  a  series  of  unconnected  acts." 

A  third  idea  following  closely  upon  the 
second  is  that  these  habits  of  mind  have 
been  given  their  shape  in  a  struggle  for  ex- 
istence between  different  races,  no  less  se- 
vere than  that  which  prevails  among  the 
lower  animals ;  only  this  human  struggle  is 
chiefly  a  conflict  between  ethical  types  rather 
than  physiological  ones,  and  stamps  its  ver- 
dict of  fitness  or  unfitness  upon  moral  char- 
acteristics rather  than  physical  structures. 
This  is  where  the  work  of  Darwin  has  given 
the  modern  investigator  his  greatest  advan- 
tage. There  were  writers  prior  to  Darwin 
who,  like  Hegel,  were  just  as  completely 
possessed  of  the  idea  of  evolution  as  Spencer 
or  Bagehot ;  but  Hegel  and  every  other  po- 
litical writer  who  preceded  Darwin  found  it 


168    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

hard  to  get,  outside  of  his  own  consciousness, 
either  a  test  of  fitness  or  a  compelling  force 
which  should  make  for  progress.  To  the 
Darwinian  this  is  easy.  Here  are  two 
tribes,  with  different  standards  of  morality. 
One  standard  preserves  the  race  which  holds 
it,  and  is  therefore  self-perpetuating ;  the 
other  has  the  reverse  effect,  and  is  therefore 
self-destructive.  The  process  of  elimination 
by  natural  selection  does  its  work  and  regis- 
ters its  verdict. 

But  the  race  characteristics  which  contrib- 
uted to  success  in  one  age  or  state  of  civi- 
lization may  not  be  equally  successful  in  a 
later  age  or  more  advanced  state.  The  race 
which  would  be  permanently  successful  must 
have  the  means  of  adapting  itself  to  new 
conditions.  A  really  permanent  system  of 
morals  must  provide  for  progress  as  well  as 
discipline,  for  flexibility  to  meet  future  con- 
ditions as  well  as  firmness  to  deal  with  pre- 
sent ones.  How  is  the  combination  to  be 
secured  ?  The  answer  to  this  question  gives 
us  the  modern  doctrine  of  liberty,  as  devel- 
oped by  Mill  and  his  followers.  This  repre- 
sents the  fourth  and  greatest  of  the  ideas 
of  modern  social  philosophy,  which  can  be 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    169 

applied  to  almost  every  department  of  human 
activity  —  commercial  freedom,  religious  tol- 
eration, or  constitutional  government.  We 
cannot  better  close  our  survey  of  political 
literature  than  by  avaiHng  ourself  of  John 
Morley's  unrivaled  powers  of  statement  in 
summarizing  this  great  principle. 

"We  may  best  estimate  the  worth  and 
the  significance  of  the  doctrine  of  Liberty 
by  considering  the  line  of  thought  and  ob- 
servation which  led  to  it.  To  begin  with,  it 
is  in  Mr.  Mill's  hands  something  quite  differ- 
ent from  the  same  doctrine  as  preached  by 
the  French  revolutionary  school ;  indeed,  one 
might  even  call  it  reactionary,  in  respect  of 
the  French  theory  of  a  hundred  years  back. 
It  reposes  on  no  principle  of  abstract  right, 
but,  hke  the  rest  of  its  author's  opinions,  on 
principles  of  utility  and  experience. 

"  There  are  many  people  who  believe  that 
if  you  only  make  the  ruling  body  big 
enough,  it  is  sure  to  be  either  very  wise  it- 
self, or  very  eager  to  choose  wise  leaders. 
Mr.  Mill,  as  any  one  who  is  familiar  with 
his  writings  is  well  aware,  did  not  hold  this 
opinion.  He  had  no  more  partiality  for  mob 
rule  than  De  Maistre  or  Goethe  or  Mr.  Car- 


170    SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS 

lyle.  He  saw  its  evils  more  clearly  than  any 
of  tliese  eminent  men,  because  he  had  a 
more  scientific  eye,  and  because  he  had  had 
the  invaluable  training  of  a  political  admin- 
istrator on  a  large  scale,  and  in  a  very  re- 
sponsible post.  But  he  did  not  content  him- 
self with  seeing  these  evils,  and  he  wasted 
no  energy  in  passionate  denunciation  of 
them,  which  he  knew  must  prove  futile.  .  .  . 
Mr.  Carlyle,  and  one  or  two  rhetorical  imi- 
tators, poured  malediction  on  the  many- 
headed  populace,  and  with  a  rather  pitiful 
impatience  insisted  that  the  only  hope  for 
men  lay  in  their  finding  and  obeying  a 
strong  man,  a  king,  a  hero,  a  dictator.  How 
he  was  to  be  found,  neither  the  master  nor 
his  still  angrier  and  more  impatient  mimics 
could  ever  tell  us. 

"  Now  Mr.  Mill's  doctrine  laid  down  the 
main  condition  of  finding  your  hero ; 
namely,  that  all  ways  should  be  left  open  to 
him,  because  no  man,  nor  the  majority  of 
men,  could  possibly  tell  by  which  of  these 
ways  their  deliverers  were  from  time  to  time 
destined  to  present  themselves.  Wits  have 
caricatured  all  this,  by  asking  us  whether  by 
encouraging  the  tares  to  grow,  you  give  the 


SOCIOLOGY,  ECONOMICS,  AND  POLITICS    171 

wheat  a  better  chance.  This  is  as  mislead- 
ing as  such  metaphors  usually  are.  The 
doctrine  of  liberty  rests  on  a  faith  drawn 
from  the  observation  of  human  progress, 
that  though  we  know  wheat  to  be  servicea- 
ble and  tares  to  be  worthless,  yet  there  are 
in  the  great  seed-plot  of  human  nature  a 
thousand  rudimentary  germs,  not  wheat  and 
not  tares,  of  whose  properties  we  have  not 
had  a  fair  opportimity  of  assuring  ourselves. 
If  you  are  too  eager  to  pluck  up  the  tares, 
you  are  very  Hkely  to  pluck  up  with  them 
these  untried  possibiUties  of  human  excel- 
lence, and  you  are,  moreover,  very  likely  to 
injure  the  growing  wheat  as  well.  The  de- 
monstration of  this  lies  in  the  recorded  expe- 
rience of  mankind." 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

BY  BRANDER  MATTHEWS 


REFERENCES 

"  The  English  Novel,"  by  Professor  Walter  Raleigh. 

"  The  Art  of  Fiction,"  by  Sir  Walter  Besant. 

"  The  Art  of  Fiction,"  by  Henry  James. 

"  Criticism  and  Fiction,"  by  W.  D.  HoweUs. 

"  A  Plea  for  Romance  "  and  "  A  Humble  Remonstrance  "  (both 

in  "Memories  and  Portraits  "),  by  R.  L.  Stevenson. 
"  Literary  and  Social  Silhouettes,"  by  H.  H.  Boyeseu. 
"  Aspects  of  Fiction,"  by  Brander  Matthews. 
"  History  of  Fiction,"  by  Dunlop. 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

Many  of  us  can  remember  a  time  —  and 
a  time  not  so  very  remote  —  when  we  would 
have  scouted  as  an  arrant  absurdity  any  sug- 
gestion that  literature  was  to  be  studied. 
Without  giving  thought  to  the  question,  we 
held  it  blindly  as  an  article  of  faith  that 
literature  was  for  enjoyment  only  and  for 
refreshment ;  and  we  may  even  have  had 
a  vague  feeling  that  it  was  not  quite  solid 
enough  to  be  matter  for  study,  —  that  it 
was,  in  fact,  too  entertaining  to  be  taken 
seriously.  If  we  chanced  to  recall  De  Quin- 
cey's  suggestive  distinction  between  the  lit- 
erature of  knowledge  and  the  literature  of 
power,  we  might  have  admitted  that  the 
works  belonging  to  the  literature  of  know- 
ledge,—  history,  for  example,  and  biogra- 
phy, —  might  well  be  read  with  a  desire  for 
self-improvement ;  but  as  for  the  books  be- 
longing to  the  literature  of  power,  —  poetry 
and  the  drama,  romance   and  the  essay, — 


176  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

these  were  for  recreation  and  for  pleasure. 
They  were  no  more  to  be  studied  than  a  sun- 
set or  a  rainbow  or  a  woman's  face  or  any- 
thing else  that  is  beautiful  and  variable. 

But  of  late  a  change  has  come  over  us, 
and  the  scales  have  fallen  from  our  eyes. 
Just  as  we  are  inquiring  into  the  phenomena 
of  the  sunset  and  the  rainbow,  and  just  as 
we  are  classifying  the  types  of  female 
beauty,  so  also  are  we  analyzing  poetry,  lyric 
and  epic  and  tragic,  and  investigating  the 
conditions  of  the  essay  and  of  the  romance. 
The  ballad  serves  as  a  basis  for  research, 
and  so  likewise  does  the  short  story.  A  bit- 
ing legend  still  gives  us  joy,  no  doubt,  but 
our  delight  is  no  longer  unalloyed.  It  was 
Froissart  who  said  that  our  sturdy  English 
ancestors  took  their  pleasure  sadly;  and  if 
there  were  to-day  to  arrive  among  us  an 
observer  as  acute  and  as  sympathetic  as  the 
old  chronicler,  he  might  record  that  now  we 
take  our  pleasure  curiously,  dissecting  our 
emotions  and  seeking  always  to  discover  the 
final  cause  of  our  amusement. 

Sometimes  one  or  another  of  us  may  be 
led  to  wonder  whether  this  later  attitude  is 
altogether  satisfactory,  and  whether  the  new 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  177 

theory  is  not  held  a  little  too  rigorously. 
There  is  something  lacking  more  often  than 
not  in  our  effort  to  find  a  scientific  foun- 
dation for  our  artistic  appreciation,  and  the 
attempt  itself  may  even  tend  to  lessen  our 
enjoyment.  We  have  all  seen  editions  of 
the  masterpieces  of  poetry  in  which  notes 
have  sprung  up  so  luxuriantly  as  to  threaten 
to  choke  the  life  out  of  the  unfortunate 
lyrist.  Diagrams  have  even  been  devised 
to  explain  the  mystery  of  the  plays  which 
plain  people  were  once  able  to  enjoy  un- 
thinkingly in  the  theatre,  a  place  where  the 
task  of  the  commentator  is  necessarily  super- 
fluous. 

Instead  of  centring  its  attention  on  the 
fructifying  kernel,  much  of  the  so-called 
teaching  of  literature  to-day  has  to  do 
chiefly  with  barren  husks,  with  the  mere 
dates  of  authors'  biographies,  and  with  the 
external  facts  of  literary  annals.  When  I 
see  that  pedants  and  pedagogues  are  cram- 
ming Milton's  lesser  lyrics  and  Shakespeare's 
sylvan  dramas  down  the  unwilling  throats  of 
green  boys  and  girls,  I  cannot  but  rejoice 
that  my  own  school-days  were  past  long 
before  these  newer   methods  were  adopted. 


178  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

Indeed,  I  think  myself  fortunate  that  I  had 
never  studied  literature  until  I  was  most 
unexpectedly  called  upon  to  teach  it.  I  had 
read  freely  for  the  fun  of  it,  finding  the 
labor  its  own  reward,  or  rather  not  finding 
it  labor  at  all ;  and  I  had  been  led  to  look 
up  the  lives  of  the  authors  whose  works 
interested  me,  and  to  compare  one  with  an- 
other ;  but  as  for  any  formal  study  of  Htera- 
ture,  I  hardly  knew  that  such  a  thing  was 
practiced  by  any  one. 

Yet  I  can  see  now,  as  I  look  back  at  my 
own  haphazard  reading,  that  I  might  have 
been  saved  much  time,  and  that  my  enjoy- 
ment in  literature,  keen  as  it  always  was, 
might  have  been  sharpened,  if  I  had  had 
some  guide  to  show  me  the  lines  along 
which  the  drama  and  the  novel  had  de- 
veloped, and  to  suggest  to  me  the  interest- 
ing relationships  of  the  different  literary 
forms,  —  a  guide  who  could  supply  me  with 
reasons  for  the  preferences  I  had  dumbly 
felt,  and  who  might  even  aid  me  to  combine 
these  preferences  into  an  aesthetic  theory  of 
my  own,  or  who  could  at  least  help  me  to 
discover  for  myself  the  principles  underlying 
my  preferences.     Useful  as   such   a   guide 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  179 

would  be  in  considering  the  essay,  for  in- 
stance, the  history  of  which  has  not  yet 
been  thoroughly  worked  out,  in  no  depart- 
ment of  literature  would  he  be  more  useful 
than  in  the  broad  field  of  fiction ;  first,  be- 
cause the  field  is  so  very  broad  and  so 
sharply  diversified,  and,  secondly,  because 
the  novel  is  still  so  young  that  there  is 
hardly  yet  a  tradition  of  criticism  to  aid  us 
in  the  necessary  classification. 


This  youth  of  the  novel,  as  compared  with 
the  drama,  for  example,  with  oratory,  with 
lyric  poetry,  must  ever  be  borne  in  mind. 
There  were  nine  muses  of  old  in  Greece,  but 
to  no  one  of  them  was  committed  the  care 
of  the  novel,  since  the  making  of  a  ficti- 
tious tale  in  prose  had  not  yet  occurred  to 
any  of  the  Greek  men  of  letters.  It  is  easy 
for  tis  to  see  now  that  it  is  a  mere  accident 
whether  a  story  be  told  in  verse  or  in  prose, 
and  that  therefore  the  earliest  of  all  ro- 
mances of  adventure  is  the  Odyssey,  the 
bold  and  crafty  Ulysses  being  thus  the  legi- 
timate ancestor  of  Gil  Bias  the  unscrupulous 
and  of  d'Artagnan  the  invulnerable.     The 


180  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

art  of  the  story-teller  is  ancient  and  honor- 
able ;  but  prose  lags  long  after  verse ;  and 
■when  our  remote  progenitor,  the  cave- 
dweller,  anticipated  the  Athenian  in  liking 
to  hear  and  to  tell  some  new  thing,  it  was 
in  rhythm  that  he  told  it,  though  it  might 
be  only  his  own  boastful  autobiography. 
Even  after  the  revival  of  letters,  when  Boc- 
caccio and  Chaucer  rivaled  one  another  in 
delicate  perfection  of  narrative  art,  the  Eng- 
lishman often  chose  verse  to  tell  the  self- 
same story  for  which  the  Italian  had  pre- 
ferred prose,  and  it  was  the  unrhythmic 
"  Vicar  of  Wakefield  "  which  suggested  the 
metrical  "  Hermann  and  Dorothea,"  just  as 
the  still  earlier  "  Daphnis  and  Chloe "  in 
prose  may  have  been  in  some  measure  the 
model  of  the  later  "  Evangeline  "  in  verse. 

The  modern  novel  in  prose  may  almost  be 
called  a  creature  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
In  many  of  its  developments  it  is  a  thing  of 
yesterday,  and  we  do  not  yet  quite  know 
how  to  take  it.  Even  now  distinctions  as 
essential  as  that  between  the  novel  and  the 
romance  and  that  between  the  novel  and  the 
short  story  are  imperfectly  seized  by  many 
of  those  who  discuss  the  art  of  fiction. 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  181 

I  was  about  to  declare  that  the  novel  is 
like  a  younger  brother  who  has  gone  forth 
to  make  his  way  in  the  world,  and  who  has 
returned  at  last  wealthier  by  far  than  any  of 
his  elders  who  have  lived  leisurely  by  the 
family  hearth.  But  this  figure  limps  a  Httle ; 
indeed,  I  must  confess  that  it  is  both  inade- 
quate and  inaccurate.  The  novel  is  rather 
the  heir  of  the  ages,  rich  not  only  with  the 
fortune  of  his  father,  but  having  received 
also  legacies  from  various  elderly  relatives,  old 
maids  most  of  them.  The  novel  has  taken 
the  heritage  of  the  epic,  and  it  is  engaged  in 
a  hot  dispute  with  the  serious  drama  for  the 
possession  of  what  Httle  property  moribund 
tragedy  may  have  to  bequeath.  It  has  even 
despoiled  the  essay  of  the  character  sketch, 
and  it  has  laid  violent  hands  on  the  fountain 
of  personal  emotion  formerly  the  sole  prop- 
erty of  the  lyric.  Not  content  with  thus 
robbing  poetry  and  the  drama,  the  novel 
vaunts  itself  as  a  rival  of  history  in  recording 
the  great  deeds  of  the  past ;  and  it  also 
claims  the  right  to  wield  the  weapons  of 
oratory  in  discussing  the  burning  questions 
of  the  present.  In  fact,  fiction  at  the  end 
of  the  nineteenth  century  may  be  likened  to 


182  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

Napoleon  at  the  very  height  of  his  power, 
when  no  other  monarch  could  make  sure  of 
resting  in  peace  upon  the  throne  of  his 
fathers. 

This  is  perhaps  the  most  striking  fact  in  the 
history  of  the  literature  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, —  this  immense  vogue  of  the  novel  and 
of  the  short  story.  Fiction  fills  our  monthly 
magazines,  and  it  is  piled  high  on  the  coun- 
ters of  our  bookstores.  Dr.  Holmes  once  said 
that  during  the  Civil  War  the  cry  of  the 
American  populace  was  for  "  bread  and  the 
newspapers."  It  would  be  an  exaggeration, 
of  course,  to  say  that  during  periods  of  peace 
the  cry  of  the  fairer  half  of  our  population 
is  for  "  clothes  and  the  novel,"  but  it  is  an 
exaggeration  only ;  it  is  not  a  misrepresenta- 
tion. Almost  every  year  brings  forth  a  story 
which  has  the  surprising  sale  of  a  quarter  of 
a  million  copies  or  more,  while  it  is  only  once 
in  a  lifetime  that  a  work  in  any  other  depart- 
ment of  literature  achieves  so  wide  a  circu- 
lation. Of  late  years  there  has  been  only 
one  Grant's  "  Personal  Memoirs  "  to  set  off 
against  a  score  of  stories  like  "  Called  Back," 
like  "Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York,"  like 
"  Trilby ;  "  and  the  sale  of  the  great  leader's 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  183 

autobiography  has  not  been  the  half  of  that 
of  a  novel  written  by  one  of  the  generals 
who  served  under  him.  In  the  past  quarter 
of  a  century  no  essay  in  political  economy 
(with  the  possible  exception  of  "  Progress 
and  Poverty")  has  really  rivaled  the  circu- 
lation attained  by  "  Looking  Backward  ;  " 
and  no  theological  treatise  (with  the  possible 
exception  of  "The  Greatest  Thing  in  the 
World")  has  had  a  tithe  of  the  readers 
**  Robert  Elsmere  "  had. 

It  was  a  primitive  Scotchman  who  wanted 
to  write  the  songs  of  a  nation  rather  than  its 
laws ;  and  even  in  our  more  advanced  civili- 
zation we  can  understand  the  wish,  although 
it  is  perhaps  easier  for  us  Americans  to  be 
proud  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States  merely  as  literature  than  of  "  Yankee 
Doodle  "  or  of  the  "  Star  Spangled  Banner." 
But  in  these  days  when  few  know  how  to 
sing  and  all  know  how  to  read,  the  story 
may  be  more  potent  than  the  lyric.  When 
Mrs.  Stowe  visited  the  White  House,  Lincoln 
bent  over  her,  saying,  "  And  is  this  the  little 
woman  who  made  this  big  war  ?  "  A  few 
years  later  the  Tsar  told  Turgenef  that  the 
freeing  of  the  serfs  was  the  result  of  thoughts 


184  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

aroused  in  the  autocrat  of   Russia  by  the 
reading  of  the  novelist's  story. 

No  doubt  the  effect  of  "Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin  "  has  been  equaled  only  by  that  of  the 
"  Memoirs  of  a  Sportsman."  But  the  influ- 
ence of  many  another  novel  has  been  both 
wide  and  deep.  The  fiction  which  abides 
has  been  patterned  after  life,  and  in  its  turn 
it  serves  as  a  model  to  the  living  men  and 
women  who  receive  it  eagerly.  The  shabby 
heroes  of  Balzac  found  many  imitators 
in  Paris  in  the  middle  of  this  century,  just 
as  the  rakish  heroes  of  Byron  had  found 
many  imitators  in  London  at  the  beginning 
of  the  century.  The  interaction  of  life  on 
literature,  and  of  hterature  again  on  life,  is 
one  of  the  most  interesting  of  phenomena 
for  the  student  of  social  development ;  and 
its  importance  is  seen  more  clearly  since  the 
French  psychologist,  M.  Tarde,  has  formu- 
lated what  he  terms  the  Law  of  Imitation, 
and  since  he  has  revealed  how  immense  and 
how  far-reaching  is  the  force  of  an  example 
placed  conspicuously  before  men's  eyes  as  a 
model.  Plainer  than  ever  before  is  the  duty 
of  the  novelist  now  to  set  up  no  false  ideals, 
to  erect  no  impossible  standards  of  strength 


THE  STUDY  OF   FICTION  185 

or  courage  or  virtue,  to  tell  the  truth  ahout 
life  as  he  sees  it  with  his  own  eyes. 

n 

There  are  various  ways  in  which  the  study 
of  fiction  may  be  approached.  We  may  con- 
sider chiefly  the  contents  of  the  book,  its  pic- 
tures of  life  and  of  manners,  its  disclosure  of 
human  characteristics  and  of  national  pecul- 
iarities ;  we  may  devote  our  attention  rather 
to  the  form  in  which  the  story  is  cast,  the 
way  it  is  told,  the  methods  of  the  narrator ; 
or  we  may  enlarge  our  views  to  cover  the  his- 
tory of  the  art  of  fiction  as  it  slowly  broadens 
down  from  precedent  to  precedent,  recording 
carefully  the  birth  of  every  new  species.  In 
the  first  case  we  should  find  a  fertile  field  of 
inquiry  if  we  sought  to  test  the  fullness  and 
the  accuracy  with  which  race-characteristics 
are  recorded  in  the  fiction  of  a  language,  — 
how  the  energy  and  the  humor  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  stock  dominate  the  novels  of  the  Eng- 
lish language;  how  the  logic  and  the  clear- 
ness and  the  wit  of  the  French  people  are 
represented  in  French  fiction ;  and  how  the 
diffuseness,  the  dreaminess,  and  the  sentimen- 
tality of  the  Germans  characterize  German 


186  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

romance.  In  the  second  case  there  would  be 
instructive  matter  for  comparison  in  setting 
side  by  side  the  mock  epic  style  of  Fielding, 
the  confidential  attitude  of  Sterne  and  Thack- 
eray, and  the  impassive  manner  of  Flaubert 
and  Maupassant.  And  in  the  third  case  we 
should  find  ourselves  facing  many  interest- 
ing questions :  Who  invented  the  detective 
story?  Who  wi'ote  the  first  sea  tale  ?  What 
is  the  earliest  novel  with  a  purpose  ?  What 
is  the  origin  of  the  historical  novel?  Who 
first  made  use  of  the  landscape  and  of  the 
weather  as  sustaining  accompaniments  of  a 
story  ?  How  and  when  has  the  fiction  of  the 
English  language  been  influenced  by  the  fic- 
tion of  the  Italian,  the  Spanish,  and  the 
French?  And  how  and  when  has  it  in  turn 
affected  the  story  telling  of  other  tongues  ? 
How  far  are  the  range  and  the  precision  of 
the  modern  novel  due  to  these  indefatigable 
international  rivalries  and  to  the  interaction 
of  various  literatures  one  on  the  other  ? 

Of  these  three  ways  of  approach,  perhaps 
the  most  satisfactory  is  the  third,  the  histori- 
cal, for  it  can  easily  be  made  to  yield  most 
of  the  advantages  of  the  others.  No  one  has 
yet  written  an  adequate  history  of  the  devel- 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  187 

opment  of  the  modern  novel ;  but  the  mate- 
rial for  an  analysis  of  this  most  interesting 
evolution  is  abundant  and  accessible.  Start- 
ing with  the  often  ill-told  and  empty  anec- 
dotes of  the  "  Gesta  Romanorum,"  on  the 
one  hand,  and  on  the  other  with  the  high- 
flown  and  impossible  romances  of  chivalry, 
both  of  them  frankly  unreadable  to-day,  we 
can  see  how  in  Italy  the  former  suppHed  the 
seed  for  the  fully  ripe  tales  of  the  "  Decam- 
eron," and  how  in  Spain  the  latter  suggested 
by  reaction  the  low-life  narratives,  those  ram- 
bling autobiographies  of  thieves  and  beggars, 
which  are  known  as  the  "picaresque  ro- 
mances," and  which  served  as  a  model  for 
"  Gil  Bias."  We  can  trace  for  ourselves  the 
steps  whereby  the  simplified  figures  of  Boc- 
caccio —  mere  masks  of  a  priest,  a  husband, 
a  wife,  for  instance,  labeled  rather  than  indi- 
vidualized, existing  solely  for  the  sake  of  the 
adventures  in  which  they  are  involved,  and 
moving  as  though  in  vacuo  with  no  effort  to 
surround  themselves  with  an  atmosphere  — 
are  succeeded  by  the  more  complicated  crea- 
tures of  Le  Sage,  with  their  recognizable 
human  weaknesses. 

We  can  note  how  slow  was  the  growth  of 


188  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

the  desire  for  unity  when  we  remark  that 
masterpieces  like  "  Don  Quixote  "  and  "  Tom 
Jones  "  are  both  of  them  dilated  and  enfee- 
bled by  the  injection  of  extraneous  stories, 
supposed  to  be  told  by  one  of  the  characters 
and  needlessly  arresting  the  flow  of  the  main 
narrative.  We  can  discover  how  even  to- 
day, when  the  beauty  of  unity  is  acknow- 
ledged, we  have  still  two  contrasting  forms, 
and  how  a  novel  may  now  either  be  Greek 
in  its  simplicity,  its  swiftness,  its  directness, 
as  the  "  Bride  of  Lammermoor  "  is,  and  the 
''  Scarlet  Letter,"  and  "  Smoke,"  with  the 
interest  centred  in  one  or  two  or  three  char- 
acters only;  or  may  be  Elizabethan  rather, 
with  a  leisurely  amplitude,  peopled  with  many 
characters,  such  as  we  see  in  the  "  Heart  of 
Midlothian,"  in  "Vanity  Fair,"  and  in 
"  Anna  Karenina." 

The  historical  study  of  fiction  affords  us 
an  opportunity  for  interesting  investigations 
into  what  may  be  called  literary  genealogy, 
—  the  inquiry  as  to  the  exact  value  of  the 
inheritance  each  of  the  novelists  received 
from  his  immediate  predecessors  and  as  to 
which  particular  predecessor  it  was  of  whom 
he  is  the  chief  heir.      Consciously  or  uncon- 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  189 

sclously  every  artist  is  a  debtor  to  the  past. 
The  most  original  of  innovators  has  made 
his  originality  partly  out  of  himself,  partly 
out  of  "what  he  has  appropriated  and  ab- 
sorbed from  those  who  practiced  his  art 
before  him.  Only  a  few  of  his  separate 
contrivances  are  his  own,  and  the  most  he 
may  claim  is  a  patent  on  the  combination. 
Now,  it  is  not  without  instruction  for  us  to 
disentangle  the  new  from  the  old,  and  to  as- 
certain whence  each  of  the  novelists  derived 
this  or  that  device  of  which  he  has  made 
effective  use. 

Every  artist  studies  in  the  studio  of  one 
or  more  of  his  elders,  and  it  is  there  that  he 
picks  up  the  secrets  of  his  art  and  receives 
the  precious  traditions  of  the  craft.  The 
novice  may  be  absolutely  unlike  his  master. 
No  matter ;  he  must  begin  by  doing  what 
his  master  tells  him,  and  it  is  only  after  he 
has  learnt  his  trade  that  he  knows  enough 
to  try  to  develop  his  own  individuality.  And 
so  we  see  how  it  is  that  the  great  Michael 
Angelo  was  a  student  under  Ghirlandajo, 
who  was  not  great,  and  how  Botticelli  profited 
by  the  instruction  of  Fra  Filippo  Lippi,  who 
had  studied  under  Masaccio,  who  had  for  his 


190  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

master  MasoKno ;  and  it  is  instructive  for  the 
student  of  the  history  of  painting  to  know 
also  that  Giulio  Romano  was  the  pupil  of 
Raphael,  who  was  the  pupil  of  Perugino, 
who  was  the  pupil  of  Niccolb  da  Foligno, 
who  was  the  pupil  of  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  who 
was  the  pupil  of  Fra  Angel ico,  who  al- 
though not  a  pupil  was  a  follower  of  Giotto, 
who  was  a  pupil  of  Cimabue.  Thus,  and 
thus  only,  can  the  indispensable  technique  be 
passed  down  from  generation  to  generation, 
every  man  handing  on  the  accumulation  he 
has  received,  increasing  it  by  his  own  contri- 
bution. The  young  artist  is  a  weakHng  if 
he  openly  robs  any  single  one  of  his  pre- 
decessors ;  he  is  a  dolt  if  he  does  not  borrow 
from  as  many  of  them  as  may  have  the  sepa- 
rate qualities  he  is  striving  to  combine. 

The  arts  are  one  in  reality ;  and  what  is 
true  of  painting  and  sculpture  and  architec- 
ture is  true  also  of  literature,  of  prose  and 
verse.  For  example,  there  are  few  men  of 
letters  of  our  time  whose  prose  has  been 
more  praised  for  its  freshness  and  its  indi- 
viduality than  the  late  Robert  Louis  Steven- 
son; but  his  was  an  originality  compounded 
of   many    simples.      He   confessed   frankly 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  191 

that  he  had  sat  at  the  feet  of  the  masters, 
playing  the  "  sedulous  ape  "  to  a  dozen  or 
more,  and  at  last  slowly  learning  how  to  be 
himself.  Again,  the  verse  of  Dante  Ga- 
briel Rossetti  has  a  note  of  its  own,  a  note 
which  many  younger  poets  have  delighted 
to  echo  and  reecho ;  but  Rossetti  told  a 
friend  that  the  exciting  cause  of  his  "  Blessed 
Damozel"  was  the  "Raven"  of  Edgar  Allan 
Poe,  and  Poe's  own  indebtedness  to  Cole- 
ridge is  obvious  even  if  it  had  not  been 
expressly  avowed. 

In  literature  as  in  life,  it  is  a  wise  child 
that  knows  its  own  father  ;  and  the  family- 
tree  of  fiction  is  not  easy  to  trace  in  all  its 
roots  and  branches.  Certain  types  persist 
from  one  generation  to  another.  We  have 
no  hesitation  in  declaring  that  the  author  of 
the  "  Master  of  Ballantrae "  had  for  his 
grandfathers  in  story-telling  the  author  of 
"  Guy  Mannering "  and  the  author  of  the 
"  Three  Musketeers ; "  and  we  may  even  ven- 
ture to  believe  that  the  young  Scotchman 
who  wrote  "  Treasure  Island  "  was  a  literary 
nephew  of  the  American  who  wrote  the 
"  Gold  Bug  "  and  a  great-grand-nephew  of 
the  Englishman  who  wrote  "  Robinson  Cru- 


192  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

soe."  Sometimes  we  can  pick  out  a  novelist 
who  is  the  remote  descendant  of  a  series  of 
international  marriages.  The  Italian  Signor 
Gabriele  d'  Annunzio,  for  example,  came 
forward  first  as  a  writer  of  fiction  with  a 
story  which  had  obviously  been  inspired  by 
a  study  of  the  psychologic  subtleties  of  the 
Frenchman,  M.  Paul  Bourget.  But  M. 
Bourget's  first  novel  was  obviously  modeled 
upon  the  delicate  work  of  Mr.  Henry  James, 
to  whom,  indeed,  it  was  dedicated  as  to  a  mas- 
ter. Now  the  earlier  tales  of  the  American 
novelist  were  plainly  written  under  the  in- 
fluence of  a  Russian,  Ivan  Turgenef.  As  a 
whole,  Signor  d'  Annunzio's  writings  are 
very  different  from  M.  Bourget's,  and  M. 
Bourget's  from  Mr.  James's  and  Mr.  James's 
from  Turgenef 's ;  but  none  the  less  the  line 
of  filiation  is  clearly  to  be  perceived.  Of 
course,  there  is  here  intended  no  suggestion 
of  unfair  imitation,  still  less  of  vulgar  pla- 
giarism ;  the  desire  is  merely  to  show  how 
each  of  these  accomplished  artists  in  fiction 
served  his  apprenticeship  in  the  workshop  of 
an  elder  craftsman.  In  literature  there  are 
very  few  self-made  men. 

As  it  happens,  these  four  nineteenth-cen- 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  193 

tury  novelists  have  a  strong  family  likeness ; 
they  are  of  kin  spiritually ;  they  are  all  of 
them  far  more  interested  in  the  subtle  work- 
ings of  the  mind  of  man  than  in  any  overt 
actions  of  his  body.  It  would  not  be  diffi- 
cult, however,  to  find  another  group  linked 
together  in  Hke  manner  in  which  there  is 
marked  opposition  between  the  successive 
authors,  the  younger  availing  themselves 
of  the  technical  devices  of  their  masters, 
byit  turning  them  to  totally  dijfferent  uses. 
For  example,  no  writer  of  his  years  has  a 
more  vigorous  freshness  than  Mr.  Rudyard 
Kipling ;  none  has  shown  originality  in  more 
diverging  lines  than  he.  Yet  Mr.  Kipling's 
first  Tales  from  the  Indian  Hills  reveal 
plainly  the  strong  impression  left  on  his 
youthful  genius  by  the  Californian  stories 
of  Mr.  Bret  Harte,  and  the  style  at  least  of 
Mr.  Bret  Harte's  earlier  stories  showed  how 
forcibly  he  had  been  affected  by  Charles 
Dickens.  Now  Dickens  has  recorded  that 
his  own  earlier  sketches  were  deliberately 
cast  in  the  mould  supplied  by  Smollett  in 
his  robust  comic  portraitures,  and  Smollett 
in  the  preface  of  one  of  his  novels  has 
avowed   his   emulation   of   Le   Sage.      But 


194  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

"  Gil  Bias  "  is  an  adroit  arrangement  of  ma- 
terial from  Spanish  sources  according  to  the 
model  set  by  the  authors  of  "  Lazarillo  de 
Tormes"  and  "Guzman  de  Alfarache,"  the 
original  picaresque  romances.  Between 
these  picaresque  romances  and  "  Gil  Bias  " 
and  Smollett's  full-blooded  and  coarse- 
grained fictions,  there  are  many  points  of 
resemblance,  but  Dickens,  even  in  the 
rougher  farcical  tales  of  his  youth,  is  not  to 
be  classed  with  them ;  Mr.  Bret  Harte's 
work  as  a  whole  exhibits  no  close  similarity 
to  Dickens's,  and  Mr.  E-udyard  Kipling's  as 
a  whole  exhibits  no  likeness  at  all  to  either 
Dickens's  or  Mr.  Bret  Harte's. 

Sometimes  the  literary  ancestry  of  an 
author  is  mixed,  and  he  is  not  merely  a  chip 
of  the  old  block  and  not  quite  the  image  of 
his  father,  but  has  traits  inherited  from  his 
mother  also  and  from  a  dozen  other  progeni- 
tors, maternal  and  paternal.  Mr.  Howells  is 
an  instance  of  this  felicitous  cross-breeding, 
and  he  can  trace  his  descent  from  forefa- 
thers as  different  as  Henry  Heine  and  Jane 
Austen,  Turgenef  and  Tolstoi.  Sometimes 
an  author  of  our  time  throws  back  to  a  re- 
mote  ancestor;    the   skeleton  of  "Huckle- 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTIOK  195 

berry  Finn,"  for  example,  is  loosely  articu- 
lated like  the  skeleton  of  "Gil  Bias," 
although  Mark  Twain  once  told  me,  when  I 
drew  his  attention  to  this,  that  he  had  abso- 
lutely no  recollection  of  Le  Sage's  story  and 
certainly  no  predilection  for  it.  The  form 
here  is  the  picaresque  form,  which  has  for 
its  hero  some  humble  and  hopelessly  un- 
heroic  figure,  before  whose  wondering  eyes 
more  or  less  of  the  strange  panorama  of  Hfe 
is  slowly  unrolled.  From  "  Gil  Bias "  to 
"  Huckleberry  Finn  "  the  line  is  long,  run- 
ning through  "  Roderick  Random  "  and  the 
"  Pickwick  Papers  "  and  more  than  one  of 
Marryat's  happy-go-lucky  narratives.  In- 
deed, the  laxly  knit  tale  of  this  type  is  likely 
always  to  be  attractive  to  the  story-teller,  as 
it  releases  the  author  from  any  obligation  to 
construct  a  logical  plot,  and  as  it  allows  him 
to  utilize  immediately  any  striking  situation 
he  may  invent  or  any  strange  character  he 
may  meet. 

in 

As  the  only  unity  the  picaresque  romance 
can  have  is  due  to  the  fact  that  a  certain 
character  has  been  a  spectator  of  the  vari- 


196  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

ous  scenes  or  an  actor  in  the  various  adven- 
tures, this  character  is  generally  allowed  to 
tell  the  story  himself,  and  the  tale  takes  the 
shape  of  an  autobiography.  The  autobio- 
graphy and  the  history,  —  these  are  the  two 
usual  methods  of  communicating  to  the 
reader  the  events  in  which  his  interest  is 
to  be  aroused ;  either  one  of  the  characters 
tells  the  tale  in  the  first  person  or  else  the 
author  tells  it  himself  in  the  third  person. 
There  are  other  methods,  of  course.  The 
story  may  be  cast  in  the  form  of  a  diary  kept 
by  one  of  the  characters,  recording  events 
from  day  to  day,  and  revealing  in  this  act  his 
feelings  at  the  moment  of  making  the  entry  ; 
the  method  of  the  contemporaneous  autobi- 
ography, this  might  be  called,  and  it  has 
been  employed  skillfully  by  Mr.  Paul  Lei- 
cester Ford  in  his  "  Story  of  an  Untold 
Love."  Or  the  author  may  suppress  every- 
thing except  what  his  people  say  to  one  an- 
other, cutting  his  story  down  to  dialogue 
only,  with  but  summary  indication  either  of 
actual  action  or  of  unexpressed  feeling.  This 
semi-dramatic  method  has  been  developed  in 
France  of  late  by  half  a  dozen  clever  writers, 
under  the  lead  of  the  lady  who  calls  herself 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  197 

**Gyp,"  and  it  has  been  employed  by  Mr. 
Rudyard  Kipling  in  the  "  Story  o£  the  Gads- 
bys."  Or  certain  of  the  characters  may  ex- 
change letters,  which  is  a  very  leisurely  way 
of  affording  us  the  information  we  are  seek- 
ing. But  this  method  has  its  advantage, 
if  the  centre  of  interest  is  not  so  much  in 
what  happened  as  in  how  these  happenings 
affected  the  several  actors, — as  in  Smollett's 
**  Humphrey  Clinker,"  for  example,  and  in 
Mr.  James's  "  Bundle  of  Letters,"  much  of 
the  humor  of  these  pleasantries  arising  from 
the  unconscious  self-revelation  of  different 
characters  in  the  presence  of  the  same  fact. 
On  the  other  hand,  modern  readers  find  it 
an  immense  weariness  to  be  forced  to  go 
through  all  the  outlying  formulas  of  episto- 
lary art,  when  the  theme  itself  is  emotion 
pure  and  simple,  —  as  in  Richardson's 
"  Clarissa  Harlowe,"  which  is  to-day  left  un- 
read partly  because  of  the  intolerable  slug- 
gishness of  its  telling.  Wilkie  Collins  found 
it  profitable  elaborately  to  combine  letters 
and  diaries  and  statements  of  this  character 
and  that,  thus  keeping  up  an  incessant  cross- 
fire of  suggestions  and  suspicions  under 
cover  of  which  the  ultimate  secret  might  lie 


198  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

concealed  a  little  longer.  Two  young  friends 
of  mine,  in  the  wantonness  of  inventive  exu- 
berance, once  pieced  together  a  coherent 
story  out  of  race-cards,  play-bills,  pawn- 
tickets, newspaper  paragraphs,  advertise- 
ments, telegrams,  and  a  few  letters,  without 
a  single  line  of  direct  narrative.  This  in- 
genuity is  well  enough  once  in  a  way,  but  in 
the  long  run  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  is 
worse  than  wasted.  In  the  art  of  the  story 
teller,  as  in  any  other  art,  the  less  the  mere 
form  is  flaunted  in  the  eyes  of  the  beholder 
the  better.  The  simpler  the  manner  of  tell- 
ing the  story,  the  more  attention  will  the 
reader  be  able  to  bestow  upon  the  matter. 
So  we  find  that  the  most  of  the  great  novels 
of  the  world  are  singularly  free  from  intri- 
cacies of  composition,  and  that  in  them  the 
story  is  set  forth  directly  either  by  one  of 
the  characters  or  by  the  author  himself. 

Probably  the  autobiographic  form  is  ear- 
lier than  the  narrative  in  the  third  person. 
As  Mr.  Kipling  once  suggested  to  me,  when 
we  were  discussing  the  question,  primitive 
man  assumes  no  modesty,  but  is  frankly  vain- 
glorious, rejoicing  in  his  own  prowess  and  de- 
lighting to  vaunt  himself.  "  I  did  it,"  he  cries, 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  199 

"  alone  I  did  it,  I  seized  him,  I  smote  him,  I 
slew  him,  —  with  my  own  right  hand  I  slew 
him !  "  And.  even  now  there  is  an  almost 
irresistible  tendency  to  boast  when  a  man  is 
talking  about  himself.  Henry  Esmond  is  as 
modest  as  he  is  manly,  but  we  discover  that 
he  is  aware  of  his  own  merits.  Barry  Lyn- 
don is  outrageously  self-laudatory,  which 
does  not  prevent  our  perceiving  that  he  is  an 
unmitigated  scoundrel.  In  these  two  master- 
pieces Thackeray  uses  the  autobiographic 
form  with  perfect  success ;  but  when  he 
employs  Arthur  Pendennis  to  unravel  for  us 
the  family  history  of  the  Newcomes,  we  can- 
not but  think  he  is  less  felicitous.  The  per- 
sonality of  Pendennis  is  out  of  place  in  the 
later  story,  and  his  presence  is  distracting; 
besides,  we  are  compelled  to  ask  ourselves 
more  than  once  how  it  is  that  Pendennis 
knows  all  the  secrets  of  the  highly  respect- 
able family,  and  we  do  not  enjoy  the  suspi- 
cion that  he  must  have  employed  detectives 
or  hstened  at  the  keyhole. 

Nine  times  out  of  ten  the  simplest  form 
is  the  best,  the  plain  narrative  in  the  third 
person  by  the  author,  who  is  supposed  to 
be  ubiquitous  and  omniscient,  having  seen 


200  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

everything,  heard  everything,  and  remem- 
bered everything.  The  modern  novelist,  Mr. 
Howells  once  reminded  me,  is  the  direct  heir 
of  the  epic  poet,  who  knew  all  things  because 
he  was  inspired  by  the  muse  herself,  her  aid 
having  been  duly  invoked  at  the  beginning. 
The  most  accomplished  artists  in  fiction  are 
the  French,  and  they  very  rarely  use  any 
but  the  plain  narrative ;  and  this  has  been 
preferred  also  by  Turgenef  in  Russia  and  by 
Hawthorne  in  America,  with  that  unerring 
instinct  which  makes  them  the  despair  of  less 
gifted  story-tellers.  Turgenef  even  managed 
to  endow  his  plain  narrative  with  some  of 
the  advantage  of  the  autobiography,  singling 
out  one  of  his  characters,  analyzing  this  one's 
feelings  only,  and  telling  us  always  how  the 
other  characters  affected  this  one. 

IV 

It  may  seem  to  some  that  I  am  lingering 
too  long  over  questions  of  technique,  to  which 
few  readers  of  fiction  ever  give  a  thought, 
being  interested  in  the  events  of  the  story, 
in  the  people  who  carry  it  on,  in  what  is 
felt  and  said  and  done,  rather  than  in  the 
way  in  which  it  happens  to  be  told.     But  a 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  201 

certain  understanding  of  technique  is  a  first 
requisite  for  any  adequate  appreciation  of  an 
art;  and  the  technique  of  the  art  of  the  nov- 
elist is  now  singularly  rich  and  varied  and 
worthy  of  consideration.  In  our  English- 
speaking  community  there  is  no  danger  that 
too  much  attention  will  be  paid  to  matters 
of  craftsmanship.  In  art  we  tend  to  be  slov- 
ens, attaining  our  aim  rather  by  an  excessive 
expenditure  of  energy  than  by  adroit  hus- 
banding of  force.  The  ordinary  British 
novel  is  a  sprawling  invertebrate  —  not  to 
call  it  an  inorganic  conglomerate.  Even  the 
works  of  the  British  masters  are  often  almost 
amorphous  —  the  "  Mutual  Friend  "  for  one 
and  "  Middlemarch  "  for  another,  both  of 
which  disclose  an  astounding  disregard  for 
the  principles  of  composition.  "  Vanity 
Fair  "  has  two  separate  stories  arbitrarily 
conjoined,  —  the  one  recording  the  rise  and 
fall  of  Becky  Sharp  and  the  other  dealing 
with  the  two  wooings  of  Amelia. 

When  we  turn  from  technique  to  theme, 
from  the  manner  of  telling  to  the  matter  of 
the  tale,  there  are  many  aspects  of  fiction 
inviting  attention,  and  there  are  not  a  few 
questions  of  the  hour  upon  which  light  can 


202  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

be  thrown  by  an  examination  of  the  novels  o£ 
the  day.  For  example,  there  is  incessant  dis- 
cussion about  the  equality  of  the  sexes  and 
about  the  difference  between  feminine  and 
masculine  ideals;  and  here  instruction  can 
be  had  by  a  comparison  of  the  novels  written 
by  men  with  the  novels  written  by  women. 
Apparently  what  man  most  admires  in  woman 
is  charm  and  submissiveness  ;  and  therefore 
we  discover  that  heroines,of  men's  novels  are 
likely  to  be  both  lovely  and  insipid,  and  that 
they  are  really  clever  only  when  they  incline 
towards  wickedness,  —  Amelia  on  the  one 
hand  and  on  the  other  Becky  Sharp.  And 
seemingly  what  woman  most  admires  in  man 
is  strength  and  goodness ;  and  therefore  we 
find  that  the  heroes  of  women's  novels  tend 
to  be  brutes,  like  Rochester  in  "  Jane  Eyre," 
or  to  be  prigs,  like  Daniel  Deronda.  Wholly 
without  intention  the  writers,  men  and  women 
both,  have  disclosed  the  unformulated  and 
fundamental  beliefs  of  each  sex  about  the 
other ;  and  the  testimony  is  the  stronger 
from  the  fact  that  the  witnesses  were  not 
aware  they  were  on  the  stand. 

Almost  as  brisk  as  this  eternal  debate  be- 
tween the  sexes  is  the  present  discussion  in 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  203 

regard  to  race  characteristics,  and  whether  or 
not,  for  instance,  the  civihzation  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  is  really  superior  to  that  of  the  Latin 
and  that  of  the  Slav.  Here  again  fiction  may 
be  of  invaluable  assistance  in  coming  to  a  wise 
conclusion.  Consider,  for  example,  how  the 
chief  quaHties  of  a  people  are  unconsciously 
disclosed  in  its  novels.  Robinson  Crusoe  is  as 
typically  English  in  his  sturdiness  and  in  his 
religious  feeling  as  the  sorrowful  Werther  is 
typically  German  or  the  light-hearted  Manon 
Lescaut  is  typically  French.  Any  one  who 
chanced  to  be  familiar  with  the  serious  fiction 
of  Spain  and  America  might  have  forecast 
the  conduct  of  the  recent  war  between  the 
two  countries  and  foretold  the  result.  Per- 
haps the  salient  inconsistency  of  the  Spanish 
character,  the  immense  chasm  between  its 
poetic  side  and  its  prosaic,  could  be  seized 
by  the  mastery  of  a  single  volume,  one  of  the 
world's  greatest  books,  "  Don  Quixote."  But 
a  casual  perusal  of  two  earlier  stories,  "  Laza- 
rillo  de  Tormes "  and  "  Guzman  de  Alfa- 
rache,"  now  nearly  three  centuries  old,  would 
remind  us  how  deeply  rooted  are  certain  of 
the  characteristics  of  the  Spanish  race,  —  on 
the  one  hand  empty  honor,  careless  cruelty, 


204  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

besotted  superstition,  administrative  corrup- 
tion, and  on  the  other,  sobriety,  uncomplain- 
ing industry,  and  cheerful  courage.  These 
same  characteristics  are  discoverable  also  in 
the  later  novels  of  Valdes  and  Perez  Galdos, 
although  not  quite  so  brutally  displayed.  And 
as  to  America,  whoever  had  read  and  under- 
stood the  recent  serious  fiction  of  the  United 
States,  the  "  Rise  of  Silas  Lapham  "  and  the 
"  Hazard  of  New  Fortunes,"  the  stories  of  Mr. 
Hamlin  Garland  and  Mr.  Owen  Wister,  the 
tales  of  Miss  Wilkins  and  of  Octave  Thanet, 
might  have  sized  up  us  Americans  and  might 
have  made  a  pretty  good  guess  at  the  way  a 
war  once  entered  upon  would  bring  out  the 
energy  of  the  race,  the  tenacity,  the  resolu- 
tion, the  ingenuity,  —  and  even  the  good- 
humored  and  easy-going  toleration  which  is 
perhaps  our  chief  defect  as  a  people  and 
which  is  responsible  in  some  measure  for  the 
preventable  sufferings  of  our  sick  soldiers. 

V 

I  said  that  a  reader  of  the  serious  fiction 
of  the  two  countries  might  have  forecast  the 
result  of  the  warj  and  by  serious  fiction  I 
meant  what  is  often  called  realistic  fiction,  the 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  205 

fiction  in  which  the  author  has  tried  to  tell  the 
truth  about  life  as  he  sees  it.  I  doubt  whether 
any  vaUd  deduction  whatever  could  have 
been  made  by  a  reader  of  romantic  fiction, 
the  fiction  in  which  the  author  feels  himself 
at  Uberty  to  dress  up  the  facts  of  Hfe  to  suit 
his  market  or  to  delight  his  caprice.  The 
romantic  fictions  are  more  exciting  than  the 
veritistic ;  surprise  follows  surprise,  and  so- 
called  effects  are  heaped  one  on  the  other. 
Life  as  we  all  know  it,  with  its  commonplace 
duties,  seems  drear  and  gray  after  these  ex- 
cursions into  fairyland  with  impossible  heroes 
who  face  impossible  perils  with  impossible 
fortitude.  But  story-telling  of  this  sort  is  as 
dangerous  as  any  other  departure  from  the 
truth  ;  and  if  it  "  takes  us  out  of  ourselves," 
as  the  phrase  is,  if  it  supplies  the  "  anodyne 
of  dreams,"  as  a  British  critic  calls  it,  we  had 
best  remember  that  the  morphine  habit  once 
acquired  is  not  readily  relinquished.  If  a 
young  lady  hkes  to  make  her  luncheon  on 
chocolate  eclairs,  it  is  not  for  us  to  interfere 
with  her  selection,  but  we  may  have  our  own 
opinion  as  to  the  wholesomeness  of  the  repast 
and  as  to  the  nourishment  it  provides. 

The  purpose  of  the  novel,  as  of  all  litera- 


206  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

ture,  indeed,  is  partly  to  amuse,  to  delight,  to 
relieve.  At  a  certain  stage  of  mental  devel- 
opment we  are  most  amused  by  the  unnat- 
ural and  by  the  supernatural.  As  we  grow 
to  man's  estate  we  are  likely  to  discover  that 
life  itself  offers  the  most  interesting  outlook 
to  us,  and  that  the  fiction  which  most  refreshes 
us  is  that  which  best  interprets  for  us  life  as 
we  know  it.  The  boy  in  us,  it  may  be,  —  the 
boy  that  survives  more  or  less  in  every  man 
who  ever  had  a  boyhood  of  his  own,  —  the 
boy  in  us  has  a  boyish  liking  still  for  deeds  of 
daring  and  for  swift  sequences  of  hairbreadth 
escapes ;  but  such  puerilities  pall  sooner  or 
later  after  a  man  has  once  plumbed  the  depths 
of  life  and  seen  for  himself  its  seriousness. 
"  When  I  was  a  child,  I  spake  as  a  child," 
said  the  apostle ;  "  I  understood  as  a  child,  I 
thought  as  a  child ;  but  when  I  became  a 
man,  I  put  away  childish  things."  And  the 
skeptic  Montaigne  tells  us  in  his  essay  on 
books  how  he  outgrew  his  youthful  fondness 
for  the  marvelous.  "  As  to  the  Amadises, 
and  such  kind  of  stuff,  they  had  not  the  credit 
to  take  me,  so  much  as  in  my  childhood. 
And  I  will  moreover  say  (whether  boldly  or 
rashly)  that  this  old  heavy  soul  of  mine  is 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  207 

now  no  longer  delighted  with  Ariosto,  no, 
nor  with  the  good  fellow,  Ovid ;  his  facility 
and  invention,  with  which  I  was  formerly  so 
ravished,  are  now  of  no  relish,  and  I  can 
hardly  have  the  patience  to  read  him."  If 
Montaigne  felt  thus  three  hundred  years  ago, 
before  the  birth  of  the  modern  novel,  we 
may  perhaps  maintain  now  that  a  continued 
preference  for  narratives  of  physical  excite- 
ment is  a  sign  of  mental  immaturity. 

Montaigne  could  see  only  the  first  of  the 
four  stages  through  which  fiction  has  been 
developed,  and  the  fourth  of  them  has  been 
evolved  only  in  our  own  time.  Fiction  dealt 
first  with  the  Impossible,  then  with  the  Im- 
probable, next  with  the  Probable ;  and  now 
at  last  with  the  Inevitable.  The  romances 
of  chivalry,  the  Amadis  of  Gaul  and  its  se- 
quels, of  which  Montaigne  wearied,  may  serve 
as  a  type  of  the  first  stage,  abounding  as 
they  do  in  deeds  frankly  impossible ;  and  it 
is  not  unfair  to  find  specimens  of  the  second 
class  in  the  Waverley  novels,  in  the  Leather- 
stocking  tales,  and  in  the  cycle  of  the  Three 
Musketeers,  wherein  we  are  entranced  by  ad- 
ventures, perhaps  always  possible  but  often 
highly  improbable.     In  the  third  group  come 


208  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

the  gentle  novels  of  Jane  Austen,  confining 
themselves  wholly  to  things  probable;  and 
in  the  final  division  we  have  Turgenef,  for 
example,  handling  the  common  stuff  of  hu- 
manity, the  plain  matters  of  daily  life,  so 
as  to  bring  out  the  inevitable  result  of  the 
action  and  reaction  of  circumstance  and 
character. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  once  quoted  the  lumber- 
ing and  inadequate  definitions  by  means  of 
which  Dr.  Johnson  sought  to  differentiate  the 
romance  and  the  novel.  A  romance,  in  Dr. 
Johnson's  eyes,  was  "  a  military  fable  of  the 
Middle  Ages ;  a  tale  of  wild  adventure  in  love 
and  chivalry,"  while  a  novel  was  "  a  smooth 
tale,  generally  of  love."  Scott  himself  pro- 
posed to  amend  by  defining  a  romance  as  "  a 
fictitious  narrative  in  prose  or  verse,  the  in- 
terest of  which  turns  upon  marvelous  or  un- 
common incidents,"  and  a  novel  as  "  a  ficti- 
tious narrative,  differing  from  the  romance 
because  the  events  are  accommodated  to  the 
ordinary  train  of  human  events  and  the 
modern  state  of  society."  With  his  usual 
clear-headed  common  sense  Scott  seized  the 
true  line  of  demarcation,  and  his  definition 
holds  to-day,  although  the  novel  has  expanded 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  209 

immensely  of  late  and  has  aspects  now  that 
would  greatly  have  surprised  him.  The  novel 
takes  for  its  own  what  is  likely,  what  is  usual, 
what  is  ordinary,  while  the  romance  revels  in 
the  unlikely,  the  unusual,  and  the  extraordi- 
nary. The  novel  could  not  come  into  exist- 
ence until  after  fiction  had  progressed  from 
the  Impossible  and  the  Improbable  at  least 
to  the  Probable.  To  this  day  the  romance 
seems  to  many  a  mere  amusement,  the  sport 
of  an  idle  hour,  and  therefore  none  too  re- 
spectable, whereas  the  novel  is  held  to  a 
higher  responsibility ;  and  if  it  aspires  to  the 
dignity  of  the  drama  it  may  be  judged  by 
the  same  lofty  standards. 

Eomance  is  fond  of  trying  to  improve  its 
literary  standing  by  pretending  that  it  is  also 
history.  It  was  John  Richard  Green  who 
once  defined  a  novel  as  "history  without 
documents  —  nothing  to  prove  it ;  "  and  it 
is  possible  that  the  historian  of  the  English 
people  meant  by  this  to  exclude  that  bastard 
hybrid  of  fact  and  fancy  which  is  known  as 
the  historical  romance.  We  recognize  that 
the  tales  of  Russian  life,  for  instance,  which 
travehng  Frenchmen  have  narrated,  cannot  be 
wholly  trustworthy,  or  at  least  we  can  guess 


210  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

at  their  inexactness  by  recalling  the  stories  of 
America  written  by  British  authors ;  and  we 
cannot  deny  that  the  author  of  a  historical  ro- 
mance is  also  a  carpetbagger,  —  not  through 
space  but  through  time,  —  and  if  his  blun- 
ders be  not  so  obvious  none  the  less  must  he 
blunder  abundantly.  As  the  best  novels  of 
Kussian  life  are  those  written  by  the  Russians 
themselves  and  the  best  novels  of  American 
life  are  those  written  by  Americans,  so  the 
best  novels  of  eighteenth-century  manners, 
for  example,  are  those  written  in  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  and  the  most  adequate  stories 
of  the  Italian  renascence  are  the  stories  writ- 
ten by  Italians  during  the  renascence.  If 
"  Romola  "  is  a  great  book,  it  is  great  not  be- 
cause of  its  historical  pretensions,  but  in  spite 
of  them.  The  historical  romances  of  writers 
less  well  equipped  than  George  Eliot  need 
detain  the  student  of  fiction  but  very  briefly. 

VI 

A  consideration  of  the  history  of  the 
modern  novel  brings  out  two  facts.  First, 
that  the  technique  has  been  steadily  improv- 
ing, that  the  story  is  now  told  more  directly, 
that  character  is  now  portrayed  more  care- 


THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION  211 

fully  and  elaborately,  and  that  the  artist  is 
more  self-respecting  and  takes  his  work  more 
seriously ;  and,  second,  that  the  desire  to 
reproduce  life  with  all  its  intricacies  has 
increased  with  the  ability  to  accomplish  this. 
The  best  fiction  of  the  nineteenth  century  is 
far  less  artificial  and  less  arbitrary  than  the 
best  fiction  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Seri- 
ous novelists  —  and  I  include  among  them 
serious  humorists  like  Mark  Twain,  whose 
"  Huckleberry  Finn "  is  a  masterpiece  of 
verity  —  serious  novelists  nowadays  seek  for 
the  interest  of  their  narratives  not  in  the  ac- 
cidents that  befall  the  hero  nor  in  the  exter- 
nal perils  from  which  he  chances  to  escape, 
but  rather  in  the  man  himself,  in  his  charac- 
ter with  its  balance  of  good  and  evil,  in  his 
struggle  with  his  conscience,  in  his  reaction 
against  his  heredity  and  his  environment. 
Know  thyself,  said  the  Greek  philosopher, 
and  the  English  poet  told  us  that  the  proper 
study  of  mankind  is  man.  The  modern 
novel,  wisely  studied,  is  an  instrument  of 
great  subtlety  for  the  acquiring  of  a  know- 
ledofe  of  ourselves  and  of  our  fellow  men.  It 
broadens  our  sympathy,  by  telling  us  how 
the  other  half  lives,  and  it  also  sharpens  our 


212  THE  STUDY  OF  FICTION 

insight  into  humanity  at  large.  It  helps  us 
to  take  a  large  and  liberal  view  of  life ;  it 
enlightens,  it  sustains,  and  it  cheers.  What 
Mr.  John  Morley  once  said  of  literature  as  a 
whole  is  even  more  accurate  when  applied  to 
fiction  alone  :  its  purpose  is  "to  bring  sun- 
shine into  our  hearts  and  to  drive  moonshine 
out  of  our  heads." 


POETRY 

BY  BLISS  PERRY 


KEFERENCES 

One  of  the  most  suggestive  modem  discussions  of  poetry  is 
Mr.  Theodore  Watts-Dunton's  article,  "  Poetry,"  in  the  Encyclo- 
pedia Britannica.  Gummere's  "  Handbook  of  Poetics  "  (Ginn  & 
Co.)  is  a  useful  guide  to  the  field  of  poetic  theory.  Metrical 
questions  are  also  well  discussed  in  Corson's  "  Primer  of  English 
Verse  "  (Ginn  &  Co.).  Professor  Cook  has  edited  in  attractive 
form  five  books  about  poetry  :  "  The  Art  of  Poetry  :  the  Poeti- 
cal Treatises  of  Horace,  Vida  and  Boileau,"  Sir  Philip  Sidney's 
"  Defence  of  Poesy,"  Shelley's  "  Defense  of  Poetry,"  Leigh 
Hunt's  "  What  is  Poetry  ?  "  and  Newman's  "  Essay  on  Aris- 
totle's Poetics  "  (Ginn  &  Co.).  Professor  Rhys's  "  Prelude  to 
Poetry,"  a  tiny  volume  published  by  Dent,  contains  not  only  the 
treatises  of  Sidney  and  Shelley,  but  striking  passages  about  their 
art  by  Milton,  Gray,  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  and  other  English 
poets.  Wordsworth's  famous  prefaces  are  reprinted  in  the  Mac- 
millan  one-volume  edition.  Browning's  interesting  essay  on 
Shelley  is  given  in  the  Cambridge  edition  (Houghton,  Mifflin  & 
Co.).  Professor  Raymond's  "  Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art " 
(Putnam),  Mr.  Stedman's  "Nature  and  Elements  of  Poetry" 
(Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.)  and  Professor  Woodben-y's  "  New 
Defense  of  Poetry  "  (in  "  Heart  of  Man,"  Macmillan)  are  among 
the  best  contributions  to  the  subject  by  American  scholars. 
For  a  complete  bibliography,  consult  Gayley  and  Scott's  "  In- 
troduction to  the  Study  of  Literary  Criticism ;  Vol.  I.,  Poetics 
and  the  Drama  "  (Ginn  &  Co.). 


POETRY 

To  frame  a  perfect  definition  of  poetry  is 
to  square  the  circle.  It  cannot  be  done.  Yet 
the  problem  continues  to  fascinate  the  critics, 
and  their  approximate  solutions  make  up  a 
whole  chapter  of  literature.  Hundreds  of 
books  have  been  written  to  explain  Aristotle's 
explanation  of  tragedy ;  and  if  other  defini- 
tions of  the  various  provinces  and  functions 
of  poetry  have  been  less  exploited,  it  is  only 
because  they  have  originated  in  some  less 
fertile  mind.  It  must  be  remembered  that 
in  dealing  with  poetry  we  are  dealing  with 
an  art  older  than  recorded  history,  one  that 
has  expressed  in  Protean  forms  the  enduring 
emotions  of  the  race  as  well  as  the  fugfitive 
moods  of  the  individual.  An  adequate  de- 
finition must  be  comprehensive  enough  to 
include  its  various  types  in  every  stage  of 
human  culture,  and  sufficiently  accurate 
withal  to  indicate  the  mental  conditions  out 
of  which   poetry  arises  and  to  which  it  in 


216  POETRY 

turn  appeals.  Who  shall  attempt  to  force 
this  into  the  terms  of  a  single  formula  ?  No 
wonder  that  poor  Boswell  exclaimed  in  per- 
plexity, "  Then,  sir,  what  is  poetry  ?  "  and 
that  Dr.  Johnson  replied,  "  Why,  sir,  it  is 
much  easier  to  say  what  it  is  not.  We  all 
know  what  light  is  ;  but  it  is  not  easy  to  tell 
what  it  is."  Does  Mr.  Ruskin  tell  us  what 
poetry  is  when  he  defines  it  as  "  the  sug^ 
gestion  by  the  imagination  of  noble  grounds 
for  noble  emotions"?  That  would  exclude 
"  Tam  O'Shanter "  and  "  The  Beggar's 
Chorus,"  and  include  Turner's  landscapes  and 
Beethoven's  music.  Archbishop  Whately 
pronounced  that  "  any  composition  in  verse 
(and  none  that  is  not)  is  always  called, 
whether  good  or  bad,  a  poem  by  all  who  have 
no  favorite   hypothesis  to  maintain ; "   but 

"  Thirty  days  hath  September, 
April,  June,  and  November  " 

is  assuredly  a  composition  in  verse  and  yet 
no  poem,  while  Whitman's  "  When  Lilacs 
Last  in  the  Dooryard  Bloomed,"  though  not 
in  verse,  is  incontrovertibly  a  poem,  at  least 
in  the  eyes  of  "  all  who  have  no  favorite  hypo- 
thesis to  maintain."  In  this  old  debate  con- 
cerning verse  as  the  criterion  of  poetry  it  is 


POETRY  217 

curious  to  notice  that  the  poets  themselves 
have  been  more  generous  than  the  rhetori- 
cians. "  One  may  be  a  poet  without  versing," 
declares  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  "  and  a  versifier 
•without  poetry."  Shelley  is  even  bolder: 
"  The  distinction  between  poets  and  prose 
writers,"  he  says,  "  is  a  vulgar  error.  .  .  . 
Plato  was  essentially  a  poet  —  the  truth  and 
splendor  of  his  imagery,  and  the  melody  of 
his  language  are  the  most  intense  that  it  is 
possible  to  conceive.  .  .  .  Lord  Bacon  was 
a  poet."  .  .  .  And  Coleridge  —  to  quote  no 
other  names  — .would  have  it  that  the  true 
antithesis  is  not  between  poetry  and  prose, 
but  between  poetry  and  science. 

We  must  not  enter  here  upon  the  history 
of  the  definitions  of  poetry.  But  they  have 
a  twofold  value,  quite  aside  from  the  light 
they  throw  upon  the  subject  itself.  Some- 
times —  as  when  Poe  calls  poetry  "  the 
rhythmical  creation  of  Beauty,"  or  Arnold 
terms  it "  a  criticism  of  life  "  —  they  indicate 
the  personal  equation  of  the  critic  and  illu- 
minate his  own  creative  work.  And  again,  in 
the  importance  given  by  Greek  theorists  to 
the  imitative  function  of  poetry,  or  the  stress 
laid  by  Romantic  critics  upon  the  imagina- 


218  POETRY 

tive  element,  or  the  claims  of  the  technicists 
regarding  the  power  of  mere  sound  apart 
from  sense,  we  can  trace  the  bias  of  the  age 
or  that  of  the  school,  and  learn  in  this 
broader  field  the  same  lesson  of  the  relativity 
of  all  aesthetic  judgments.  Every  definition 
uses  the  dialect  of  a  current  philosophy  or 
betrays  the  individual  accent  of  the  definer. 
But  the  phrase  "  emotional  ideas  in  rhythmi- 
cal language  "  is  a  widely  accepted  working 
definition.  As  expanded  by  Mr.  Theodore 
Watts-Dunton  it  becomes,  if  not  a  faultless 
definition,  at  least  as  good  a  one  as  we  are 
ever  likely  to  get :  "  Poetry  is  the  concrete 
and  artistic  expression  of  the  human  mind 
in  emotional  and  rhythmical  language." 

Yet  there  is  quite  another  way  of  arriv- 
ing at  a  comprehension  of  the  nature  of 
poetry ;  namely,  to  watch  the  process  by 
which  it  comes  into  being,  to  trace  its  origin 
in  the  poet's  mind.  That  genetic  method 
which  explains  the  nature  of  things  by  con- 
sidering the  way  in  which  they  have  come 
into  being  and  which  is  transforming  various 
departments  of  thought  to-day,  may  be  ap- 
plied to  poetry  as  well  as  to  philosophy  and 
science.     For  poetry  presupposes  an  organ 


POETRY  219 

for  its  production.  To  have  poetry  you 
must  first  have  your  poet,  and  the  most 
hackneyed  and  likewise  the  best  thing  ever 
said  about  the  poet  is  this,  —  that  he  is  born 
and  not  made. 

In  other  words,  we  are  dealing  with  an 
organism  which  performs  a  certain  particular 
function.  Some  of  its  processes  are  mysteri- 
ous and  are  likely  to  remain  so,  and  yet  its 
structure  and  general  laws  of  its  activity  lie 
open  to  scrutiny.  Suppose  we  examine  it. 
What  is  a  poet,  and  how  does  he  differ  from 
the  rest  of  us?  Here  are  Burns,  Heine, 
Shelley,  Longfellow,  —  poets  all.  How  are 
they  differentiated  from  other  men,  even 
from  other  men  of  letters?  And  further- 
more, what  are  the  conditions  essential  to 
their  poetical  activity,  to  the  functioning, 
that  is  to  say,  of  the  poet  qua  poet?  A 
frightened  cuttle-fish  squirts  ink  into  the 
sea  water ;  your  agitated  poet  spreads  ink  on 
paper ;  in  both  cases  it  is  a  question  of  an 
organism,  a  stimulus  and  a  reaction.  The 
image  of  the  solitary  reaper  stirs  a  Words- 
worth, and  the  result  is  a  poem ;  a  profound 
sorrow  comes  to  Alfred  Tennyson,  and  he 
produces  "  In  Memoriam." 


220  POETRY 

We  turn  first,  then,  to  the  impressions 
which  the  poet  receives,  from  whatever 
source.  Into  his  mind,  as  into  ours,  flows 
an  unbroken  stream  of  sense  perceptions. 
He  has  no  immunity  from  the  universal  ex- 
perience ;  he  loves  and  he  is  angry  and  he 
sees  men  born  and  die ;  he  becomes  accord- 
ing to  the  measure  of  his  capacity  a  thinker ; 
he  is  forced  to  reckon  with  the  outer  world 
and  the  inner  world  and  the  other  world. 
In  a  word,  he  is  a  man,  and  nothing  human 
is  alien  to  him.  But  he  is  likely  to  have  a 
finer  endowment  than  other  mortals,  a  more 
delicate  impressibility.  The  mere  eyesight 
of  many  English  poets  has  been  notoriously 
acute;  they  have  been  extraordinary  ob- 
servers of  the  details  of  nature,  and  of  the 
infinite  varieties  of  human  costume  and 
character.  And  yet  the  poet's  physical 
vision  is  not  so  noteworthy  as  the  psychical 
vision  which  he  frequently  displays.  He 
sees  into  the  human  heart,  comprehends  the 
working  of  the  human  mind ;  he  reads  the 
divine  justice  in  the  tragic  fall  of  kings; 
he  penetrates  beneath  the  external  forms  of 
nature  and  perceives  her  as  a  "  living  pre- 
sence "  or  perhaps  as  a  "  pathetic  fallacy." 


POETRY  221 

The  astronomer  Lalande  said  that  he  had 
swept  the  whole  heavens  with  his  glass  and 
seen  no  God ;  but  to  Emerson,  the  poet,  the 
sky  was  "  full  of  light  and  of  deity." 

Yet  the  faculty  of  vision  which  the  poet 
possesses  in  so  eminent  a  degree  is  shared 
by  many  who  are  not  poets.  Darwin's  out- 
ward eye  was  as  keen  as  Wordsworth's ;  St. 
Paul's  sense  of  the  reality  of  the  invisible 
world  is  more  wonderful  than  Shakespeare's. 
The  poet  is  indeed  first  of  all  a  seer,  but  he 
must  be  something  more  than  a  seer  before 
he  is  wholly  poet. 

Another  mark  of  the  poetic  mind  is  its 
vivid  sense  of  relations.  The  part  suggests 
the  whole.  In  the  single  instance  there  is 
a  hint  of  the  general  law.  The  self-same 
Power  that  brings  the  fresh  rhodora  to  the 
woods  brings  the  poet  there  also.  In  the 
field-mouse,  the  daisy,  the  water-fowl,  he 
beholds  types  and  symbols.  His  own  ex- 
perience stands  for  all  men's.  The  con- 
science-stricken Macbeth  is  a  poet  when  he 
cries,  "  Life  is  a  walking  shadow,"  and  King 
Lear  makes  the  same  pathetic  generalization 
when  he  exclaims,  "  What,  have  his  daugh- 
ters brought  him  to  this  pass  ?  "     Through 


222  POETRY 

the  shifting  phenomena  of  the  present  the 
poet  feels  the  sweep  of  the  universe :  his 
mimic  play  and  "  the  great  globe  itself  "  are 
alike  an  "  insubstantial  pageant,"  though  it 
may  happen,  as  Tennyson  said  of  Words- 
worth, that  even  in  the  transient  he  gives 
the  sense  of  the  abiding,  "  whose  dwelling 
is  the  light  of  setting  suns." 

But  this  perception  of  relations,  character- 
istic as  it  is  of  the  poetic  temper,  is  also  an 
attribute  of  the  philosopher.  The  intellect 
of  a  Newton,  too,  leaps  from  the  specific 
instance  to  the  general  law ;  every  man,  in 
proportion  to  his  intelligence  and  insight, 
feels  that  the  world  is  one ;  while  Plato  and 
Descartes  play  with  the  time  and  space 
world  with  all  the  grave  sportiveness  of  a 
Prospero. 

Again,  the  poets  have  always  been  the 
'*  genus  irritabile  "  —  the  irritable  tribe. 
They  not  only  see  deeply,  but  feel  acutely. 
Often  they  are  too  highly  sensitized  for  their 
own  happiness.  If  they  receive  a  pleasure 
more  exquisite  than  ours  from  a  flower,  a 
glimpse  of  the  sea,  a  gracious  action,  they 
are  correspondingly  quick  to  feel  disso- 
nances, imperfections,  slights.     Like  Lamb, 


POETRY  223 

they  are  rather  squeamish  about  their  wo- 
men and  children.  Like  Keats,  they  are 
"  snuffed  out  by  an  article."  Keener  plea- 
sures, keener  pains,  this  is  the  law  of  their 
life ;  but  it  is  applicable  to  all  persons  of 
the  so-called  artistic  temperament.  It  is  one 
of  the  universal  penalties  of  a  fine  organism. 
It  does  not  of  itself  describe  a  poet. 

The  real  difference  between  the  poet  and 
other  men  seems  to  lie  in  a  transforming 
imagination  by  virtue  of  which  his  impres- 
sions undergo  a  change  in  kind.  Emotional 
thought,  passing  through  his  mind,  becomes 
poetic  thought.  Into  that  brain-crucible  of 
his  is  thrown  his  raw  material,  —  whatever 
he  has  seen  and  felt,  —  and  it  comes  out 
changed.  It  is  by  reason  of  this  mysterious 
chemistry  that  the  poet  deserves  the  name 
of  maker.  He  possesses  now  not  only  "  the 
vision  "  but  "  the  faculty  divine  ;  "  the  seer 
has  become  the  creator.  We  are  taught 
that  carbon,  under  certain  conditions  of 
intense  heat  and  pressure,  becomes  diamond; 
and  in  some  such  fusion  caused  by  emotional 
excitement,  the  image-making  power,  the 
"shaping  spirit  of  imagination,"  seems  to 
find  or  make  all  its  material  plastic   to  its 


224  POETRY 

touch,  crystallizes  it  into  new  forms,  embod- 
ies it  in  language.  It  is  a  verbal  image  now ; 
a  concrete  expression  of  the  old  fact  in  a 
new  medium,  under  new  laws.  Henceforth 
it  is  not  called  carbon,  it  is  diamond ;  but 
it  must  be  cut  and  polished  still,  and  mounted 
so  that  every  facet  flashes  back  the  light. 
The  poem  must  express  in  appropriate  lan- 
guage the  emotional  thought  which  it  con- 
tains. The  poet  must  be  not  merely  a  seer 
and  a  maker  but  a  singer;  or,  to  use  the 
Wordsworthian  terms  once  more,  he  must 
possess  not  only  "  the  vision  and  the  faculty 
divine,"  but  also  "the  accomplishment  of 
verse." 

This  third  and  final  stage  of  the  process 
by  which  a  poem  comes  into  being  lies  pecul- 
iarly open  to  the  observation  of  the  critic, 
for  in  the  conscious  employment  of  language 
as  a  means  to  an  end  the  poet  is  using  a  tool 
familiar  to  all  literary  workmen.  They  do 
not  possess  the  same  skill,  but  they  know 
what  he  is  doing.  They  see  him  select,  now 
with  the  rapidity  of  instinct,  now  with  long 
labor,  certain  words  from  the  thousands 
within  call.  Sometimes  he  seems  to  take  the 
language  of  ordinary  life,  but  it  is  always 


POETRY  225 

with  artful  suppressions,  avoidances,  addi- 
tions. Selection  itself  is  a  sort  of  idealization, 
a  re-moulding  of  reality.  The  poet  is  for- 
ever choosing  words  that  are  redolent  of  past 
experience,  rich  in  emotional  associations.  If 
they  belong  to  the  conventional  dialect  of 
poetry  —  Arcadia's  current  coin  —  they  are 
often  worn  meaningless  by  use,  until  there  is 
need  of  a  fresh  minting;  and  then  from  a 
foreign  tongue,  or  from  new  fields  of  thought 
or  action,  or  up  from  the  unrecognized  speech 
of  lowly  folk  comes  a  new  troop  of  words  to 
serve  their  turn  for  a  season. 

Since  the  poet  thinks  in  figures  —  else  he 
is  no  poet  —  he  is  bound  to  use  figurative 
language.  Strong  feeling  grasps  instinctively 
at  figured  statement.  Let  us  once  grow  an- 
gry or  in  love,  and  the  plain  hteral  assertion 
becomes  absurd  ;  we  turn  poets  for  the  nonce, 
and  deal  with  tropes  and  parables.  The  poet 
is  a  picture-writer,  conveying  not  so  much 
the  fact,  as  his  impression  of  the  fact.  His 
language  is  thus  representative,  rather  than 
presentative.  In  the  "  Century  Dictionary  " 
the  skylark  is  described  as  "  a  small  oscine 
passerine  bird  of  the  family  Alaudidae  .  .  . 
insectivorous  and  migratory  ; "  in  your  Shel- 


226  POETRY 

ley  the  same  bird  is  pictured  as  an  "  unbod- 
ied joy  !  "  The  first  statement  presents  the 
object  in  terms  of  thought,  the  second  repre- 
sents it  in  terms  of  f eeHng ;  the  first  gives 
the  fact,  the  second  an  image  of  the  fact ; 
one  has  the  logical  truth  of  prose,  the  other 
the  imaginative  truth  of  poetry. 

Again,  every  expression  of  emotion  through 
language  is  rhythmical.  From  the  child's  sob 
to  the  splendid  periods  of  a  Webster  or  a 
Ruskin  the  utterance  of  strong  feeling  is 
marked,  for  physiological  as  well  as  rhetori- 
cal reasons,  by  more  or  less  regularly  recur- 
ring stress.  In  availing  himself  of  rhythm, 
therefore,  the  poet  employs  the  natural  and 
inevitable  medium  for  the  communication  of 
his  particular  mode  of  mental  action.  But 
he  goes  further  than  this.  If  he  wishes  to 
escape  from  the  company  of  the  "  prose 
poets,"  who  are  likewise  giving  a  more  or 
less  rhythmical  expression  to  emotional  ideas, 
and  using  concrete  figures  and  impassioned 
doctrine,  he  must  use  language  that  is  not 
only  rhythmical  but  metrical. 

Now  metre,  that  is  to  say  —  in  English 
poetry  —  a  certain  combination  of  accented 
and  unaccented  syllables,  repeated  in  fixed 


POETRY  227 

measures,  with  such  variations  and  substitu- 
tions as  the  ear  allows,  is  rhythm  captured 
and  controlled.  It  springs  from  and  in  turn 
evokes  an  emotional  mood,  compelling  the 
attention  of  the  listener,  and  quickening  the 
poet's  flagging  energy.  It  is  thus  an  aid 
rather  than  a  fetter  to  expression. 

The  same  may  be  said  of  rhyme,  in  whose 
artistic  use  there  is  opportunity  for  con- 
summate skill,  in  spite  of  the  complaint 
humorously  voiced  by  Chaucer  and  repeated 
by  generations  of  dictionary-turning  poets, 
that  "  Ryme  in  Englissh  hath  such  skars- 
etee."  Yet  blank  verse  is  our  noblest  poetic 
measure,  affording  in  its  endless  variety  of 
phrasing,  cadence,  and  pause  an  unequaled 
melody  and  harmony. 

For  the  poet's  language,  to  sum  up  much 
in  little,  should  be  capable  of  giving  pleasure 
to  the  ear  alone,  just  as  the  painter  must 
please  the  eye  before  he  can  reach  the  mind. 
There  is  a  tone-color  scale  of  sound  more 
subtle  in  its  emotional  effect  than  the  colors 
upon  the  painter's  palette.  The  spoken  word 
is  more  than  mere  vibrations,  however  musi- 
cal those  may  be ;  it  is  a  symbol  as  weU.  It 
comes  to  us  freighted  with  meaning,  clear  or 


228  POETRY 

vague ;  with  memories  of  happiness  or  terror. 
It  appeals  not  merely  to  individual  experi- 
ence, but  is  colored  also  by  the  emotional 
history  of  the  race.  The  word  "  raven  "  had 
a  foreboding  sound  long  before  Shakespeare 
placed  the  bird  upon  Macbeth's  battlements. 
"Home"  and  "fire"  and  "child"  have  a 
music  deeper  than  the  melodious  syllables. 

The  poet's  mastery  of  expression  therefore 
turns  upon  his  sense  of  the  poetic  values  of 
words,  and  of  their  expressional  possibihties 
when  combined  into  rhythmical  and  metrical 
patterns.  He  produces  a  succession  of  verbal 
images,  pleasing  to  the  ear  and  significant 
to  the  mind.  We  have  seen  that  the  mate- 
rial with  which  he  works  is  extraordinarily 
complex,  —  far  more  so  than  the  sculptor's 
clay  or  bronze,  the  painter's  pigments,  or  the 
musical  composer's  scale  of  sounds.  It  is 
difficult  in  any  of  these  arts  to  make  a  clear 
division  between  content  and  form ;  between 
that  which  is  to  be  expressed  and  the  partic- 
ular beautiful  object  by  means  of  which  the 
artist  has  conveyed  his  intention.  The  more 
consummate  the  work  of  art,  the  more  impos- 
sible does  it  become  to  separate  its  soul  from 
its  body.     And  yet  it  is  often  instructive  to 


POETRY  229 

attempt  the  separation,  and  to  analyze  the 
stages  of  the  threefold  process  which  we 
have  been  considering.  Few  readers  would 
quarrel  with  the  assertion  that  Browning's 
thought,  his  verdict  upon  Hfe,  is  the  marked 
characteristic  of  his  poetry,  as  Blake's  dis- 
tinction Hes  in  his  imaginative  power,  and 
Swinburne's  in  his  command  of  language. 
In  this  triad,  Browning  is  preeminently  the 
"  seer,"  Blake  the  "  maker,"  and  Swinburne 
the  "singer,"  though  of  course  all  three 
see  and  make  and  sing.  A  poet  may  reveal 
genius  either  in  insight,  imagination,  or 
technique;  and  the  more  imperfectly  the 
elements  are  fused,  the  easier  it  is  for  the 
critic  to  point  out  the  predominating  gift. 

Our  difficulty  lies  at  precisely  the  most 
interesting  point  of  the  whole  process,  the 
point,  namely,  where  content  passes  over  into 
form  through  the  crystallizing  power  of  the 
imagination.  Here  is  the  real  creative  act ; 
the  free  play  of  personality ;  the  justification 
of  the  proud  outburst  of  the  EngUsh  poet,  — 

"  I  have  a  bit  of  fiat  in  my  soul, 
And  can  myself  create  my  little  world." 

And  here,  too,  is  the  place  of  Inspiration,  the 
breathing  into  the  finite  mind  of  the  potency 


230  POETRY 

of  the  Infinite  Mind,  so  that  the  poet  be- 
comes the  prophet,  the  spokesman  of  One 
mightier  than  himself. 

But  the  transformation  of  emotional 
thought  into  poetic  thought  becomes  less 
mysterious  if  we  consider  the  analogies  pre- 
sented by  the  allied  arts.  These  all  illustrate 
the  artist's  remodeling  of  reality,  his  expres- 
sion in  new  terms  of  the  impressions  he  has 
received.  In  the  words  of  John  LaFarge, 
art  "  is  the  representation  of  the  artist's  view 
of  the  world."  It  is  "  nature  seen  through  a 
temperament,"  says  Taine ;  "  nature  made 
human,"  says  Professor  Raymond.  The 
bronze  Hermes  of  the  Naples  museum  is  not 
a  servile  copy  of  an  actual  human  figure ;  it 
is  a  particular  artist's  representation  of  a  type ; 
it  is  the  embodiment  of  an  idea.  The  land- 
scapes of  the  Barbizon  school  of  painters  are 
the  record  of  an  honest  attempt  to  observe 
nature  at  first  hand  ;  they  show  truth  to  fact 
as  well  as  the  higher  truth  of  feeling ;  and 
yet  each  of  those  canvases  betrays  the  indi- 
vidual temperament  of  the  painter.  It  por- 
trays a  group  of  trees  in  the  morning  mist, 
or  a  tiny  pond  hidden  in  the  forest,  but  we 
speak  of  it  as  ^' a  Corot,"   "a  Rousseau," 


POETRY  231 

because  the  man  has  consciously  or  uncon- 
sciously put  himself  into  the  work.  The  law 
is  everywhere  the  same.  Vision,  imaginative 
transformation,  expression,  —  these  are  the 
three  universal  factors  in  art  production. 

The  various  types  of  poetry  are  thus  illu- 
minated at  many  points  by  the  other  arts 
of  action  or  repose.  The  lyric,  the  most 
direct  expression  of  personal  emotion  which 
the  whole  field  of  poetry  presents,  has  ob- 
vious analogies  with  music.  Originally  in- 
tended to  be  accompanied  by  music,  —  a  song 
that  was  meant  to  be  sung,  —  the  lyric  still 
retains  and  is  tested  by  its  singing  quality. 
Yet  its  melody  is  less  unalloyed  than  that  of 
the  harp  or  flute,  its  old  companions.  Their 
notes  are  pure  music,  freed  from  the  world 
of  fact,  bound  by  no  law  save  that  of  inner 
harmony.  But  the  lyric  poet  is  entangled  in 
the  world  of  fact,  though  his  lyric  cry  may 
be, "  0  that  I  might  escape  from  it !  That  I 
had  wings  like  a  dove !  "  His  song  depicts 
a  situation,  a  desire ;  the  words  have  con- 
notations of  thought  as  well  as  feeling,  else 
they  are  melodious  nonsense.  The  represen- 
tation of  definite  thought  or  fact  degrades 
music  from  its  ideal  function  as  the  harmoni- 


232  POETRY 

ous  expression  of  human  emotion  in  terms  of 
sound ;  but  the  very  element  that  alloys 
music  gives  poetry  consistency  and  dignity, 
and  makes  it  the  noblest  of  the  arts. 

When  the  poet  turns  his  gaze  from  him- 
self to  nature,  he  often  finds  the  painter 
standing  by  his  side.  In  the  idyl  or  the 
modern  descriptive  sonnet  the  method  tends 
to  become  strictly  pictorial.  The  very  vo- 
cabulary of  latter-day  landscape  poetry  has 
been  largely  borrowed  from  the  studios,  al- 
though the  strained  effort  to  render  in  words 
what  the  artist  can  easily  express  in  colors 
or  black  and  white  has  become  one  of  the 
marked  defects  of  contemporary  writing. 

While  the  very  nature  of  language  classi- 
fies poetry  among  the  so-called  "  time  arts," 
which  deal  most  appropriately  with  a  suc- 
cession of  actions,  as  in  the  epic,  rather 
than  with  objects,  it  may  nevertheless  con- 
cern itself  like  sculpture  with  arrested 
actions,  eternalizing  the  one  significant  mo- 
ment. The  sense  of  form,  the  exquisite- 
ness  of  line,  revealed  in  Keats's  "  Ode  on  a 
Grecian  Urn  "  is  as  sculpturesque  as  that 
"  fair  attitude  "  of  the  very  marble.  And  is 
it  too  fanciful  to  find  in  the  construction  of 


POETRY  233 

the  drama  —  in  the  sequence  of  its  parts,  its 
ordered  beauty,  the  inevitableness  of  its  con- 
verging lines,  its  manifestation  of  superin- 
tending thought,  in  a  word,  its  architectonic 
quality  —  a  parallel  to  the  art  of  the  great 
builders?  It  is  no  question  here  of  emo- 
tional sensibility  and  musical  utterance 
merely ;  the  task  demands  that  finest  form 
of  genius,  sanity  ;  it  calls  for  a  Sophocles  or 
a  Moliere. 

A  further  illustration  of  the  nature  of 
poetry  is  to  be  found  in  its  kinship  with 
other  forms  of  imaginative  literature.  The 
prose  drama  differentiates  itself  from  the 
poetical  not  more  by  the  absence  of  rhyth- 
mical and  metrical  effects,  and  hence  a  less- 
ened capacity  for  formal  beauty,  than  by 
the  less  complete  imaginative  fusion  of  its 
materials,  by  the  predominance  of  fact  — 
however  witty  and  interesting  the  presenta- 
tion —  over  truth.  The  more  clever  the  pro- 
blem-play, the  more  triumphant  its  solution 
of  a  psychological  puzzle,  the  farther  may 
it  be  from  genuine  poetry.  The  same  may 
be  said  of  many  manifestations  of  that  real- 
istic spirit  which  asserts  the  equal  value,  for 
literary  purposes,  of  all  objects  of  thought. 


234  POETRY 

Whitman's  "  catalogue  poems  "  —  with  their 
random  mention  of  things  and  actions  and 
places  as  inherently  poetical,  are  no  more 
poems  than  a  loud  roll-call  of  the  scholars 
is  teaching  school.  The  teacher's  faculties, 
apparently  so  active,  are  really  asleep  and 
only  the  eye  and  the  tongue  are  moving. 
Here  is  -where  Walt  loafs,  but  does  not 
invite  the  soul. 

On  the  other  hand,  fervid  and  sustained 
passages  from  the  great  orators  frequently 
exhibit  every  element  of  poetry,  except  the 
distinctive  tunes  and  color  of  verse;  and 
likewise,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  unexcep- 
tionable verse  which  is  oratory  in  disguise, 
persuasive  rhetoric  rather  than  poetry. 
*^  Childe  Harold  "  —  to  make  use  of  a  famil- 
iar example  —  often  reads  like  an  eloquent 
funeral  discourse  over  the  grandeur  of 
departed  nations.  Many  of  the  vigorous 
metrical  productions  of  Mr.  Kipling  belong 
to  the  category  of  political  declamation. 
"  Wrath  makes  verse,"  said  the  Roman  sa- 
tirist, and  he  was  quite  right.  Personal  in- 
vective and  profound  political  convictions 
have  alike  assumed  the  conventional  robes 
of  poetry,  and  yet  it  remains  true,  as  a  critic 


POETRY  235 

in  the  "  AthenaBum  "  wrote  very  admirably 
the  other  day,  that  "  Poetry  is  a  new  way  of 
seeing  things,  rather  than  a  loud  way  of  say- 
ing them." 

Finally,  and  perhaps  more  perfectly  than 
other  literary  types,  the  art  of  prose  fic- 
tion aids  in  the  delimitation  of  the  field  of 
poetry.  The  noveHst  and  the  poet  have, 
or  should  have,  many  qualities  in  common. 
They  both  depict  life  in  concrete  terms  by 
means  of  artistic  language.  But  the  novel- 
ist can  deal  with  a  wider  range  of  fact  with- 
out ceasing  to  give  pleasure.  His  general 
attitude  may  be  more  circumspect  and  scien- 
tific, although  in  his  lyric  passages  he  may 
strive  to  outvie  the  poet  himself.  The  same 
man,  in  different  periods  of  life  or  in  differ- 
ent moods,  may  be  markedly  successful  in 
both  arts,  as  were  Scott  and  Victor  Hugo. 
And  yet,  without  underestimating  the  splen- 
did imaginative  triumphs  of  prose  fiction  in 
our  own  century,  it  remains  true  that  poetry 
is  the  finer  art,  more  exacting  in  its  techni- 
cal demands,  and  rewarding  the  craftsman 
with  glimpses  of  a  more  ravishing  beauty. 
Both  romancer  and  poet  may  be  "seers," 
but  the  romancer  is  only  a  writer,  while  the 


236  POETRY 

poet  sings.  Intimate  as  is  the  association  of 
poetry  with  other  forms  of  literature,  its  feet 
are  set  upon  more  difficult  ways  and  it  seeks 
a  higher  goal.  It  is  a  "  forerunner ; "  its 
loins  are  girded  about  and  its  lamps  are 
burning.  The  shining  presence  comes  and 
goes,  and  whenever  a  great  poet  dies  the 
most  materialized  human  society  feels  itself 
spiritually  poorer. 

To  point  out  the  true  nature  of  poetry  is 
to  have  given  the  best  of  all  reasons  why  we 
should  read  it.  If  poetry  be  really  what 
Shelley  thought  it,  "  the  record  of  the  best 
and  happiest  moments  of  the  happiest  and 
best  minds,"  its  claims  need  no  enforcement, 
provided  they  are  once  perceived.  No  new 
converts  are  to  be  gained  by  pounding  upon 
the  desk,  or  pronouncing  under  what  com- 
pulsion one  must  peruse  his  Shakespeare  or 
his  Tennyson.  And  yet  there  are  certain 
considerations,  implied  in  what  has  been 
said  already  rather  than  forming  a  hortatory 
adjunct  to  it,  which  should  not  be  over- 
looked. 

If  an  appreciation  of  the  fine  arts  counts 
for  anything  in  culture,  it  is  worth  remem- 


POETRY  237 

beriug  that  poetry  is  the  most  accessible  o£ 
the  arts,  —  indeed,  the  only  one  that  is  al- 
ways accessible.  The  noblest  architecture, 
the  most  perfect  productions  of  painting  and 
sculpture,  the  greatest  music,  are  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  plain  American.  They  are 
perquisites  for  the  traveled,  the  rich,  the 
dwellers  in  a  few  cities.  However  much  we 
rejoice  in  the  progress  of  American  art,  and 
in  the  increased  opportunities  for  the  culti- 
vation of  popular  taste,  these  conditions  can- 
not be  essentially  changed  in  a  country  like 
our  own.  But  the  most  magnificent  poet- 
ical literature  in  the  world  is  the  birthright 
of  every  man  and  woman  of  us  who  can 
read.  In  every  hour  that  can  be  won  from 
toil  here  is  a  House  Beautiful  with  its  open 
ivory  gate.  Nay,  at  any  time  and  any- 
where, if  you  can  but  murmur  the  lines  you 
love,  the  fadeless  pictures  rise  and  Pan's 
pipes  are  once  more  playing ! 

That  is  a  shallow  criticism  which  detects 
in  modern  civilization  certain  forces  destruc- 
tive of  poetry,  and  overlooks  at  the  same 
time  tendencies  distinctly  favorable  to  po- 
etry. The  universality  of  those  emotions  to 
which  a  true  poem  appeals  has  never  had 


238  POETRY 

SO  striking  an  illustration  as  the  instant  and 
world-wide  recognition  of  Mr.  Kipling's 
"  Recessional."  The  ease  of  international 
communication,  the  swift  exchange  of  ideas 
and  aspirations,  tend  to  a  unification  of  hu- 
man feeling  which  gives  the  poet  of  to-day 
an  audience  such  as  never  poet  had  before. 
In  men  of  every  English-speaking  state 
there  is  something  which  responds  to  a 
poem  like  the  "  Recessional ; "  and  yet  it  is 
possible  to  point  out  productions  —  like 
"Macbeth"  and  "  Othello "  — still  more 
unlimited  in  their  scope,  whose  significance 
is  clear  not  merely  to  the  Anglo-Saxon,  but 
to  the  "  general  heart  of  man." 

For  everywhere  we  shall  find  this  craving, 
imperious  or  obscure,  for  the  aesthetic  satis- 
faction of  those  longings  for  which  actual 
life  does  not  adequately  provide.  Here  is  a 
youth  fiery-hearted,  thirsting  for  truth,  turn- 
ing feverishly  from  one  field  of  human 
knowledge  to  another,  finding  no  resting 
place  for  his  spirit.  Does  poetry  give  him 
what  he  seeks  ?  In  one  sense,  no  ;  and  yet 
in  a  very  true  sense,  yes.  In  Goethe's 
"Faust"  or  Browning's  "Paracelsus"  — 
poetical  treatments  of  imaginary  cases  like 


POETRY  239 

his  own,  he  will  find  his  problem  wrought 
out,  a  solution  reached,  artistic  truth  at- 
tained. This  artistic  truth  may  serve  him 
for  actual  truth ;  by  losing  himself  in  the 
imaginative  land  of  poetry,  he  finds  his  real 
self.  We  cannot  question  this  daily  miracle. 
It  has  too  many  witnesses.  And  is  it  so 
very  strange  ?  Where  is  the  truth  concern- 
ing the  great  human  relationships  to  be 
found  ?  Is  it  in  the  manuals  of  physiology 
and  psychology  and  sociology,  or  is  it  in 
Shakespeare  ?  Is  the  truth  about  the  Deity 
to  be  found  in  the  treatises  on  Systematic 
Theology,  or  in  Job  and  Isaiah  ? 

Pathetic  is  the  fortune,  again,  of  the  per- 
son who  craves  affection  even  more  than 
truth,  but  whose  environment  is  blandly  in- 
different or  fiercely  hostile  to  his  desires. 
It  is  something,  at  least,  that  he  may  turn 
to  the  ideal  world,  and  lose  his  heart  to  Rose 
Aylmer,  Lander's 

"  Rose  Aylmer,  whom  these  wakeful  eyes 
May  weep,  but  never  see." 

It  is  something,  surely,  to  be  able  through 
the  magic  of  poetry  to  five  now  and  then, 
like  Charles  Lamb,  with  your  "  dream-chil- 
dren ; "  to  breathe  the  enchanted  air,  and  for 


240  POETRY 

the  moment  believe  yourself  lovable  and  be- 
loved. 

Or  it  may  be  the  realm  of  outward  action 
for  which  the  ardent  youth,  and  the  recluse, 
and  the  drudge  in  some  unlovely  calling  are 
yearning.  By  way  of  recompense  for  the 
uneventful  day's  routine  they  have  but  to 
open  a  book,  and  straightway  they  are  under 
the  walls  of  Troy,  or  marching  with  the  Bur- 
gundians,  or  riding  with  the  Douglas  and 
his  men.  The  mimic  life  of  the  drama  ar- 
rests them,  beckons  them  to  follow,  and  lo  ! 
your  shop-girl  and  bank-clerk  are  watching 
Portia  jest,  and  Lady  Macbeth  listen,  and 
Hamlet  hesitate,  and  Harry  the  Fifth  make 
love.  It  is  a  dream  world,  this  world  of 
poetry,  —  of  appearance,  as  the  philosophers 
say,  and  not  reality,  —  and  yet  for  that  very 
reason  it  is  an  abiding  world,  a  mansion  of 
the  mind,  filled  with  lovely  forms  and  fur- 
nished for  our  delight. 

But  does  the  reading  of  poetry  afford  dis- 
cipline as  well  as  delight  ?  There  is  a  dis- 
trust of  it  in  many  quarters  as  something 
sentimental,  moonshiny,  indefinite.  The  peo- 
ple who  like  to  know  what  makes  the  trolley 
car  go  are  not  the  people,  generally  speak- 


POETRY  241 

ing,  who  would  pluck  out  the  heart  of  Ham- 
let's mystery.  I  have  known  a  feminine 
biologist  to  discover  at  twenty-eight  that 
Emerson  was  commonplace,  and  a  distin- 
guished Latinist  to  declare  that  he  never 
thinks  nowadays  of  reading  Virgil  as  poetry. 
The  scientifically  trained  mind  frequently 
betrays  this  lurking  contempt  for  the  aes- 
thetically trained  mind, —  a  contempt,  it 
may  be  added,  which  the  artist  returns  with 
interest.  The  two  points  of  view  are  in  fact 
irreconcilable.  The  mental  discipline  em- 
phasized by  much  modern  education  is  not 
to  be  found  in  poetry.  The  very  attempt  to 
study  poetry  in  the  scientific  spirit,  with  the 
so-called  laboratory  method,  is  very  likely  a 
blunder.  And  nevertheless  poetry  may  be 
a  school  of  clear  thinking  and  apt  speech. 
You  must  have  your  wits  about  you  to  read 
Pope,  and  be  an  all-round  intellectual  ath- 
lete if  you  would  fence  and  wrestle  and  leap 
with  Browning.  Indeed,  the  latter  poet  has 
suffered  from  the  very  adroitness  that  makes 
it  such  a  mental  stimulus  to  read  him ;  he 
loves  to  gymnasticize  when  he  should  be 
singing,  and  your  Browning  Club  often  de- 
generates into  a  debating  society. 


242  POETRY 

The  disciplinary  value  of  poetry  depends 
rather  upon  its  implicit  intellectual  force, 
that  which  is  hidden  beneath  and  secretly 
sustains  the  lines  of  beauty.  Like  the  dis- 
cipline afforded  by  all  serious  art,  it  is  pro- 
portioned to  the  seriousness  of  the  poet's 
intention,  to  the  substance  and  quality  of  his 
thought.  To  read  Dante  requires  strenuous 
effort,  not  so  much  because  of  the  difficulty 
of  his  language  and  our  unfamiliarity  with 
thirteenth-century  ideas,  as  that  you  must  rise 
—  as  nearly  as  may  be — to  Dante's  height 
and  deliberately  measure  your  power  against 
his,  like  the  young  Wordsworth  envisaging 
the  Alps. 

It  is  because  poetry  of  this  kind  calls 
forth  the  total  intellectual  activity  of  the 
reader  that  it  so  profoundly  exercises  the 
imagination.  For  the  imagination,  as  we 
are  told  so  often,  is  not  a  separate  faculty ; 
it  is  the  whole  mind  thrown  into  the  pro- 
cess of  imagining.  To  recreate  in  your 
own  brain  the  imagery  of  a  poem  is  to  be- 
come in  some  degree  a  poet  yourself.  No 
poetic  fancies  are  too  slight  to  cultivate  in 
some  degree  the  reader's  imagination,  but 
the   richer  harvests  come  when   the  soil  is 


POETRY  243 

deeply   stirred  and  the  field  widens  to  the 
horizon. 

The  recognition  of  poetic  beauty,  likewise, 
grows  more  exquisite  with  use.  There  is  no 
pleasing  word  or  happy  metaphor  or  har- 
monious cadence  that  fails  to  educate  the 
eye  and  ear ;  and  it  is  often  by  virtue  of 
such  training  in  the  more  sensuous  poetic 
pleasures  that  one  learns  to  appreciate  verse 
of  a  more  severe  and  noble  type.  This  fa- 
miliarity with  the  language  of  poetry,  this 
quick  response  to  its  formal  beauty,  is  es- 
sential if  poetry  is  to  perform  for  us  its 
of&ce  of  interpreter.  The  poet  is  constantly 
translating  the  world  to  us,  in  terms  that  we 
can  learn  to  understand.  He  opens  our 
eyes,  and,  paradoxically  enough,  we  notice 
the  things  about  us  because  we  have  read 
books,  precisely  as  the  Barbizon  painters  are 
said  to  have  gotten  their  enthusiasm  for 
open-air  work  from  studying  Dutch  paint- 
ings in  the  museums.  What  lover  of  poetry 
is  there  who  has  not  learned  thereby  to  ob- 
serve the  face  of  nature  more  closely,  and  to 
perceive  more  vividly  the  meaning  of  what 
he  sees  ?  The  same  truth  holds  in  the  field 
of  human  life  and  character.     Did  the  Duke 


S44  POETRY 

of  Marlborough  learn  all  his  English  history 
from  Shakespeare's  plays  ?  He  had  a  good 
teacher.  But  is  there  nothing  to  be  learned 
from  "The  Ring  and  the  Book"?  Or 
rather,  is  there  any  fact  of  life  or  source  of 
emotion  or  law  of  conduct  which  is  not  in 
some  way  or  other  thrown  into  clearer  light 
by  that  extraordinary  masterpiece  ?  And  if 
we  turn  from  the  world  of  phenomena  to  that 
world  which  is  most  real  because  most  invis- 
ible, we  shall  still  find  that  the  poets  are 
its  best  interpreters.  They  chant  its  joyous 
bondage  in  an  "  Ode  to  Duty,"  its  law  of 
spiritual  surrender  in  a  "  Palace  of  Art ;  "  a 
students'  drinking  song  in  mediaeval  Latin 
will  set  the  brevity  and  pathos  of  human 
life  over  against  those  unseen  and  enduring 
glories;  and  every  broken  spirit  finds  re- 
fuge in  the  Psalms  of  the  Hebrew  King. 

It  is  thus  that  poetry  becomes  a  resource, 
renewing  our  sense  of  beauty,  and  remind- 
ing us  of  those  realities  of  which  all  lovely 
things  are  but  symbols.  I  recall  the  con- 
fession of  a  venerable  scholar,  sitting  in  his 
plain  library  while  the  autumn  rains  beat 
against  the  window,  and  reviewing  some  of 
the  cramped  circumstances  and  bitter  disap- 


POETRY  245 

pointments  of  his  career.  "Poetry,"  he 
said  slowly,  "  has  been  the  consolation  of 
my  life." 

It  is  a  solace  to  know  that  the  poets  are 
always  there  at  the  outposts  of  experience, 
alert  for  new  tidings,  on  guard  against  the 
ancient  enemies  of  spiritual  freedom.  We 
quail  before  disasters,  grow  clodlike  under 
the  weight  of  custom  and  routine.  They 
keep  singing  as  they  fight,  and  with  im- 
mortal enthusiasm  pronounce  each  day  beauti- 
ful and  good.  Or  if  it  happens,  as  Heine 
said  of  himself,  that  their  hearts  break 
though  their  swords  are  unbroken,  they  die 
dreaming  of  a  better  time.  Shelley  and 
Byron  were  unhappy  enough,  and  told  all 
about  their  misery,  but  to  the  last  they  were 
unconquerable  idealists,  undisciplined  but 
very  gallant  soldiers  in  the  long  warfare  for 
the  emancipation  of  society.  The  indefeasi- 
ble ardor  of  such  men  is  a  trumpet  call  to 
every  believer  in  a  good  cause ;  and  if  the 
poets  cannot  assure  us  that  we  ourselves  shall 
witness  the  ultimate  triumph,  they  can  at 
least  command  us  to  — 

"  Charge  once  more  then,  and  be  dumb  1 
Let  the  victors,  when  they  come, 


246  POETRY 

When  the  forts  of  folly  fall, 
Find  thy  body  by  the  wall  ! " 

I  have  been  reminding  the  lovers  of  poetry 
of  the  nature  and  claims  of  their  heritage. 
Yet  a  word  remains  to  be  said  concerning 
the  way  in  which  poetry  may  most  profitably 
be  read,  and  here  I  address  myself  more  par- 
ticularly to  those  whose  reading  has  been 
mainly  in  other  fields. 

"  Delight,"  said  John  Dryden,  "  is  the 
chief,  if  not  the  only  end  of  poesy ;  instruc- 
tion can  be  admitted  but  in  the  second  place ; 
for  poetry  only  instructs  as  it  delights." 
Now  one's  delight  in  poetry,  as  in  any  other 
art,  is  largely  dependent  upon  an  intelligent 
understanding  of  its  aims  and,  to  some  ex- 
tent, of  its  technique.  A  fine  building  gives 
most  pleasure  to  the  cultivated  eye,  to  the 
mind  conversant  with  architecture.  The  con- 
noisseur cannot,  of  course,  appreciate  every 
technical  difficulty  which  the  builder  or 
painter  or  musician  has  overcome,  but  his 
familiarity  with  the  best  art,  while  perfect- 
ing his  judgment,  will  increase  his  capacity 
for  admiration.  Approaching  the  work  of 
art  originally  as  a  pleasure-giving  whole,  he 
becomes  interested  in  technique  as  one  of 


POETRY  247 

the  factors  in  his  pleasure.  He  may  indeed 
develop  an  interest  in  technique  for  its  own 
sake,  and  halt  there  forever,  but,  more  hap- 
pily, he  becomes  able  again  to  view  the  object 
as  a  beautiful  whole,  with  pleasure  heightened 
a  hundred-fold  through  his  knowledge  of 
technical  processes  as  contributory  to  the 
total  result.  It  is  well  to  study  the  parts 
of  the  cathedral,  guide-book  in  hand,  to 
know  the  exact  length  of  the  nave  and 
depth  of  the  chancel  and  height  of  the  spire, 
to  trace  each  flower  and  leaf  in  the  carved 
capitals  and  analyze  the  color  scheme  of  the 
rose- window;  and  it  is  better  still,  after  doing 
all  that,  to  wander  through  the  town  some 
quiet  night  and,  emerging  from  the  narrow 
street  suddenly  upon  the  cathedral  itself,  to 
feel  the  black  bulk  of  it  towering  there  in 
shadowy  beauty,  built  for  the  glory  of  God. 
The  best  guide-books  to  poetry  have  been 
written  by  the  poets  themselves.  They  have 
told  not  only  how  to  build  the  lofty  rhyme, 
but  with  what  faith  and  purpose  they  have 
wrought.  Their  most  informal  utterances 
are  rich  in  suggestion.  Instance  the  table- 
talk  of  Goethe,  the  letters  of  Gray  and  Byron 
and   Lowell,   the   prefaces   of    Shelley   and 


248  POETRY 

Wordsworth,  Coleridge's  random  notes,  the 
conversations  recorded  in  the  biography  of 
Tennyson.  The  closer  you  get  to  these  men, 
the  more  secrets  of  their  art  will  they  betray. 
To  see  one  of  them  shrug  his  shoulders  over 
a  bit  of  doubtful  practice  is  worth  a  whole 
treatise,  and  oh !  to  have  caught  the  expres- 
sion in  Shakespeare's  eye  as  Ben  Jonson 
laid  down  the  law  upon  the  classical  unities ! 
But  the  poets  have  also  loved  to  praise  their 
art  at  length.  Witness  Horace's  genial "  Art 
of  Poetry,"  and  Lessing's  epoch-making 
"  Laocoon ; "  the  noble  Defenses  of  Poetry 
by  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Dryden,  and  Shelley ; 
Landor's  "  Imaginary  Conversations  ; "  the 
papers  of  Leigh  Hunt  and  Poe ;  Browning's 
essay  on  Shelley ;  and  much  more  beside 
than  can  be  mentioned  here.  Recall,  too,  the 
singular  excellence  of  those  essays  upon  poe- 
try written  by  trained  critics  who  were  poets 
as  well,  like  Coleridge  and  Matthew  Arnold 
and  Newman  and  Lowell,  —  to  make  no  men- 
tion of  living  writers.  All  these  generations 
of  criticism  and  comment,  beginning  with 
Aristotle  and  ending  with  your  mere  aca- 
demic pedagogue,  have  created  a  body  of 
doctrine  concerning  poetry  more  considerable 


POETRY  249 

and  better  worth  consideration  than  the  body 
of  doctrine  that  has  grown  up  around  any 
other  art.  Do  not  neglect  it.  The  better 
the  reader  of  poetry  knows  what  he  is  about 
the  more  pleasure  is  he  likely  to  receive,  pro- 
vided he  does  not  substitute  the  analysis  of 
poetic  pleasure  for  that  pleasure  itself.  The 
man  who  tears  out  of  the  corner  of  his  news- 
paper a  bit  of  fugitive  verse  because  he  likes 
it  is  more  to  be  envied  than  an  Aristotle  who 
does  not  like  it. 

The  result  of  the  study  of  poetic  theory 
and  of  the  laws  of  metrical  structure  should 
be  a  quicker  sympathy  with  the  poet's  utter- 
ance. You  must  anticipate  what  he  is  trying 
to  say,  and  accept  the  sort  of  language  he  is 
using.  To  interpret  the  symbols  of  his  art 
requires  practice.  Think  how  very  arbitrary 
they  are  :  mere  black  marks  on  paper,  like  a 
sheet  of  music.  You  must  translate  them 
note  by  note,  perceive  the  thought  and  feel- 
ing and  combinations  of  musical  sound  which 
thrilled  the  poet  when  he  first  scrawled  these 
crooked  conventional  signs.  It  is  true  that 
in  all  imaginative  literature  the  letter  killeth ; 
and  yet  the  letters,  the  alphabet  of  poetry, 
must  be  patiently  learned,  unless  you  are  one 


250  POETRY 

of  the  fortunate  people  to  whom  this  sort  of 
reading  "comes  by  nature."  Yet  to  stop 
with  the  analytic  study  of  poetry  is  to  count 
the  rose's  petals  and  forget  to  see  the  rose. 
Can  any  of  us  who  had  to  parse  Gray's 
"  Elegy  "  in  school  tell  to  this  day  whether 
it  is  a  good  poem  or  a  bad  one  ? 

The  most  perfect  test  of  one's  appreciation 
of  the  parts  as  related  to  the  whole  is  doubt- 
less to  read  the  poem  aloud.  To  do  this  ade- 
quately, as  I  have  said  elsewhere,  "  necessi- 
tates something  more  than  a  translation  of 
the  symbolism  into  terms  of  the  understand- 
ing ;  it  requires  an  interpretation  of  the 
emotional  element  in  the  poem,  of  that  indeed 
which  has  made  it  a  poem."  Yet  if  you 
can  read  it  fittingly  and  have  done  it  often 
enough  to  make  sure  that  the  very  sight  of 
the  letters  sets  all  the  sounds  a-chiming  in 
the  ear,  it  may  be  better  to  read  silently 
henceforward.  The  melodies  unheard  are 
sweeter  !  I  confess  to  a  sort  of  alarm  when 
a  friend  proposes  to  read  aloud  to  me  from 
his  favorite  poet.  It  may  be  my  favorite  poet 
too  !  There  is  a  famous  lover  and  teacher 
of  poetry  who  avers  that  he  is  the  only  man 
in  America  who  knows  how  to  read  Keats's 


POETRY  251 

"Ode  to  a  Nightingale."     But  I  will  take 
his  word  for  it. 

While  it  is  never  too  late  to  cultivate  a 
taste  for  poetry,  your  true  enthusiast  is  com- 
monly caught  young.  The  normal  child  is 
pleased  by  rhythm  and  imagery  and  thinks 
poetry  a  song-and-picture-book  in  one.  The 
boy  and  girl,  throbbing  with  emotions  which 
their  elders  too  frequently  ignore  or  misin- 
terpret, find  in  poetry  an  embodiment  of 
their  vague  desires,  an  initiation  into  a  new 
existence.  To  the  man  and  woman  poetry 
may  be  something  different  still.  They  may 
not  be  able,  by  a  happy  reversion  of  taste,  to 
enjoy  the  song-and-picture-book  kind  of  verse 
any  more,  nor  "  The  Psalm  of  Life "  kind 
any  more,  and  there  is  no  use  in  making  be- 
lieve that  they  do.  Nor  is  there  any  wisdom 
on  the  other  hand  in  trying  to  antedate  expe- 
rience, in  forcing  upon  the  child  or  adoles- 
cent a  kind  of  literature  that  they  cannot 
possibly  comprehend.  Hundreds  of  boys 
and  girls  read  "  Vanity  Fair  "  and  know  all 
the  words  and  perhaps  like  the  book,  and  yet 
cannot  in  the  nature  of  the  case  —  luckily 
for  them  —  know  what  Thackeray  is  talking 
about.     Shakespeare's  plays  have  something 


252  POETRY 

for  everybody,  of  course ;  but  they  will  not 
make  a  man  out  of  a  boy  or  a  philosopher 
out  of  a  fool.  There  are  people  who  talk 
glibly  about "  Sordello  "  and  "  Pippa  Passes  " 
who  ought  to  be  kept  on  "  The  Child's  Gar- 
den of  Verses  "  for  a  long  time  yet,  and  then 
introduced  into  the  gentle  and  courtly  society 
of  Longfellow.  "  This  is  the  poet  for  me !  " 
one  cries  sometimes  in  the  joy  of  discovery, 
without  waiting  to  ask  the  sobering  question, 
"  Am  I  the  man  for  him  ?  "  And  perhaps  it 
is  not  well  to  ask  this  question  too  curiously, 
but  rather  to  trust  to  that  instinct  which 
draws  together  two  persons  destined  to  be 
friends.  Commerce  with  books,  as  with  men 
and  women,  may  be  spoiled  by  self -conscious- 
ness, by  a  too  moralistic  inquiry  into  the 
sources  and  ultimate  benefits  of  what  was 
intended  by  Heaven  to  be  just  a  pleasure. 

But  at  the  risk  of  giving  advice  where  it 
is  not  needed,  let  me  urge  the  cultivation  of 
an  intimate  acquaintance  with  at  least  one  of 
the  greater  poets.  You  can  secure  an  intro- 
duction to  him  without  being  called  a  tuft- 
hunter.  Look  at  the  world  through  his  eyes, 
think  his  thoughts,  thrill  with  his  passion. 
Study  his  first  boyish  verse  ;  watch  him  ripen, 


POETRY  253 

deepen.  Let  him  contradict  and  correct  him- 
self, —  be  his  own  commentator  and  critic. 
Learn  him  so  thoroughly  that  you  know 
what  he  would  say  to  this  or  that,  though 
he  never  happened  to  say  it !  To  do  this  is 
to  poetize  the  whole  round  of  experience, 
particularly  if  your  chosen  poet  be  a  man 
of  your  own  century,  stirred  by  the  same 
events,  haunted  by  the  same  doubts,  exalted 
by  the  same  faiths,  as  yourseK.  I  should  be 
far  from  instancing  Walt  Whitman  as  a  per- 
fectly endowed  poet,  but  it  is  a  confession 
of  his  power  to  find  yourself  unconsciously 
repeating  after  him,  whenever  you  cross  the 
ferry  to  New  York,  "  Ah,  what  can  ever  be 
more  stately  and  admirable  to  me  than  mast- 
stemmed  Manhattan  !  "  He  takes  this  vast 
panoramic  spectacle  of  modern  American  life, 
and  finds  poetry  in  it  everywhere.  True,  he 
has  no  uniform  power  of  making  poetry  out 
of  it ;  he  is  only  a  rhapsodist,  chanting,  orat- 
ing, self-absorbed,  not  seeing  that  Beauty 
herself  is  at  that  instant  passing  him  with 
amused  or  averted  face.  But  what  shall 
be  said  of  Browning,  who  sang  of  the  body 
as  well  as  Whitman  and  of  the  soul  so 
very  much  better  ?     Or  of  Tennyson,  who  is 


fm  POETRY 

depreciated  sometimes  by  people  who  have 
just  gone  Columbusing  over  Whitman  and 
Browning  and  imagine  their  new  world  out- 
marvels  the  old,  until  they  sail  back  again, 
—  Tennyson  the  faultless  craftsman,  a  Mer- 
lin without  the  folly,  the  most  full-orbed  and 
glorious  of  the  poetic  voices  of  our  time? 
And  I  am  speaking,  I  hope,  to  a  few  Words- 
worthians,  who  can  say,  with  Edward  Fitz- 
Gerald,  that  they  read  all  the  other  poets, 
but  always  end  by  coming  back  to  their 
Daddy.  Not  the  least  reward  for  knowing 
one  poet  well  is  this  restful  sense  of  home- 
coming, after  journeying  far  with  the  others. 
But  I  must  not  call  the  roll  of  American 
and  English  poets,  even  by  the  greater 
names,  —  although  in  truth  it  is  often  the 
lesser  poetic  lights  that  shine  most  friendly 
to  us.  We  may  be  awed  by  Milton  and 
Shakespeare,  and  yet  be  on  very  good  terms 
with  some  of  their  poor  relations.  Nor  can 
I  discuss  the  keen  pleasure  that  the  scholar 
feels  in  mastering  the  poetry  of  other  races 
and  other  times.  Here  our  choice  of  poetic 
companionship  is  rudely  limited  by  ignorance 
and  circumstance.  Yet  the  real  limitations 
are  those  of  imperfect  sympathy  rather  than 


POETRY  255 

imperfect  knowledge.  Keats  was  a  good 
enough  Greek  for  the  purpose,  though  he 
knew  no  Greek  at  all.  He  knew  what  he 
hked,  and  that  was  his  salvation. 

Like  seeks  like  :  that  is  the  subtle  law 
which  directs  these  affinities,  after  all  is  said. 
We  think  we  are  choosing  freely,  but  the 
choice  turns  upon  our  whole  mental  history, 
our  spiritual  fitness.  Here  are  the  poets  in 
their  singing  robes,  and  here  stand  we,  a 
very  miscellaneous  and  dusty  company  by 
comparison.  But  through  some  heavenly 
hospitality  we  get  presented  to  them,  we  fall 
into  converse  with  this  one  and  that  one, 
we  drift  away  in  the  crowd  only  to  find  our- 
selves unconsciously  turning  back  again  and 
renewing  conversation,  responding  with  our 
awkward  ejaculations  of  delight,  our  hushed 
rapturous  silence,  to  that  clear-voiced  utter- 
ance of  theirs,  more  intimate  than  music  and 
yet  more  musical  than  speech.  And,  mar- 
velously  enough  !  we  discover  that  the  poets 
and  ourselves  are  friends  already :  that  we 
have  always  cared  for  the  same  things,  kept 
the  same  ideals,  loved  beauty,  and  like  poor 
Malvolio  in  the  play,  thought  "  very  nobly  of 
the  soul."    All  the  past,  as  we  listen,  becomes 


256  POETRY 

a  part  of  the  moment's  joy,  and  the  long,  long 
future  beckons.  We  perceive  that  the  longer 
we  listen  the  deeper  will  become  the  charm, 
that  the  ear  grows  finer  by  hearing  and  the 
voices  ever  more  alluring  and  more  wise ; 
for  these  are  spiritual  utterances,  and  are 
spiritually  discerned. 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

BY  HAMILTON  WRIGHT  MABIE 


REFERENCES 


Seneca's  Works. 
Cicero's  Works. 
Plutarch's    "  Lives "     and 

"  Morals." 
Montaigne's  Essays. 
Bacon's  Essays. 
Addison's  "  Spectator." 
Lamb's  Essays. 
Carlyle's  Essays. 
Emerson's  Essays. 


Aristotle's  "  Poetics." 

Herder's  "  Ideas." 

Goethe's       "  Maxims "      and 

"  Conversations  with  Ecker- 

mann." 
Coleridge's  "  Biographia  Lit- 

eraria." 
Dryden's  Prefaces. 
Wordsworth's     "  Preface     to 

Lyrical  Ballads." 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

"Plutarch  and  Seneca  were  soon  in  the 
foreground,"  writes  Walter  Pater  in  his  de- 
sciption  of  Montaigne's  library ;  "  they  would 
still  be  at  his  elbow  to  test  and  be  tested : 
masters  of  the  autumnal  wisdom  that  was 
coming  to  be  his  own,  ripe  and  placid  — 
from  the  autumn  of  old  Rome,  of  Hfe,  of  the 
world,  the  very  genius  of  second  thoughts, 
of  exquisite  tact  and  discretion,  of  judgment 
upon  knowledge."  It  is  impossible  to  recall 
the  earliest  of  modern  essayists  and  one  of 
the  masters  of  the  essay  as  a  literary  form 
without  becoming  aware  of  a  rich  background 
of  human  experience  and  a  distinct  and  tena- 
cious personality.  The  books  at  the  elbow 
of  the  keen  Gascon  observer  and  the  frank 
Gascon  critic  represented  an  immense  accu- 
mulation of  the  phenomena  and  results  of  the 
process  of  living.  Generations  had  left  in 
those  volumes  a  deposit  of  knowledge  born 
of  contact  with  the  facts  of  life.     Art  and 


260  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

beauty,  knowledge  and  power,  were  in  those 
books ;  but  it  is  safe  to  say  that  Montaigne 
was  drawn  and  held  less  by  these  qualities  than 
by  the  deep  human  interest,  the  wide  human 
experience,  clarified,  rationalized,  and  con- 
served by  men  who,  having  become  the  clas- 
sics of  our  time,  must  have  been  the  free, 
vital,  creative  men  of  their  own  time  ;  for  in 
order  to  become  immortal  one  must  first  live. 
The  great  classics,  instead  of  being  conceived 
in  grammar  and  born  in  rhetoric,  as  our 
unhappy  method  of  approaching  them  some- 
times makes  us  feel,  were  the  first-hand 
observers,  the  free-hand  narrators,  the  close- 
at-hand  artists  of  their  own  age.  They  were 
usually  innovators;  they  were  often  law- 
breakers ;  there  was  always  a  certain  audacity 
of  soul  in  them ;  for  a  man  must  be  real 
before  he  is  great,  and  to  be  real  one  must 
see  things  as  they  are  and  not  as  they  are 
commonly  represented  to  be.  It  is  well  to 
remember  that  Burns,  Wordsworth,  and 
Kipling  —  men  who  deal  freely  with  their 
material  and  are  suspected  or  accused  of 
literary  heresy  —  become,  or  are  likely  to 
become,  the  classics  of  a  succeeding  age. 
Homer  and  Theocritus  are  enshrined  in  such 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  261 

eminent  respectability  that  we  are  likely  to 
forget  that  the  first  was  a  Bohemian,  and 
that  the  second  consorted  familiarly  with 
shepherds  and  other  vulgar  persons. 

Montaigne,  with  the  Greek  and  Latin 
classics  at  hand,  brings  before  the  mind  in 
concrete  fashion  the  two  prime  factors  in 
the  essay  :  wealth  of  human  experience,  and 
a  personality  keen  or  powerful  or  medita- 
tive. The  epic  poet  may  come  before  the 
historian  and  is  more  likely  to  furnish  the 
true  record  of  spiritual  growth ;  he  needs 
only  a  tradition,  a  legend  and  a  responsive 
imagination.  He  may  come  at  so  early  a 
period  in  the  history  of  a  people  as  to  be 
semi-mythical  himself;  it  is  still  uncertain 
whether  the  Homeric  poems  were  composed 
by  Homer  or,  to  recall  an  old  Oxford  joke, 
by  another  man  of  the  same  name.  Some 
of  us  will  hold  by  the  integrity  of  the  Iliad 
and  the  Odyssey  as  the  creation  of  an  artist 
and  not,  in  their  present  form,  the  com- 
posite work  of  innumerable  forgotten  poets; 
but  it  is  of  no  consequence  whether  we  are 
able  to  put  this  great  maker  in  his  place  in 
his  generation  and  call  him  by  his  name ; 
the  essential  thing  is  that  he  had  all  things 


262  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

necessary  for  the  final  and  noble  doing  of 
bis  work. 

The  dramatist  may  arrive,  as  did  Aeschy- 
lus and  Euripides,  Marlowe  and  Shakespeare, 
at  the  end  or  in  the  heart  of  great  popular 
movements  ;  when  men  are  largely  absorbed 
in  action  and  are  more  concerned  with  the 
fruits  of  life  than  with  its  interior  and  ulti- 
mate significance,  its  more  elusive  aspects, 
its  more  obscure  wisdom.  For  the  theme  of 
the  drama  is  man  in  action ;  without  action 
there  is  no  character,  and  without  character 
there  is  no  dramatic  development  or  climax. 
The  dramatist  may  come,  therefore,  as  he 
came  in  Greece,  at  the  beginning  of  the  full 
historic  unfolding  of  race  life.  The  lyric 
poet  generally  follows  the  epic  poet,  but 
whenever  language  has  grown  musical  he 
may  arrive;  he  is,  of  all  makers  of  litera- 
ture, the  most  independent,  for  he  needs 
nothing  save  the  ability  to  look  into  his  own 
heart  and  the  skill  to  hold  the  common  cur- 
rency of  speech,  as  it  passes  through  his 
hands,  long  enough  to  put  his  private  mark 
on  it. 

The  novelist  has  come  late,  it  is  true; 
later  than  any  other  of  the  great  makers  of 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  263 

literature ;  but  he  is  the  Hneal  descendant  of 
the  story-teller,  and  the  story-teller  has  had 
his  tale  and  his  audience  these  many  cen- 
turies. He  belongs  to  the  youth  of  the 
race ;  he  was  followed  and  loved  when  men 
were  children ;  he  was  curiously  and  uncon- 
sciously predicting  science,  foretelling  mod- 
ern invention  and  foreshadowing  modern 
art  when  Bagdad  was  newly  built,  and  Da- 
mascus was  slowly  blossoming  into  gardens 
and  rising  into  walls  beside  her  murmuring 
streams. 

The  epic  poet,  the  dramatist,  the  lyric 
poet  and  the  story-teller  get  their  inspiration 
largely  from  the  movement  of  the  stream  of 
life ;  they  may  appear  whenever  the  vital 
impulse  has  become  deep  and  strong,  and 
the  imagination  has  been  energized ;  they  do 
not  need  to  wait  upon  experience,  which  is 
the  record  of  accomplished  life. 

The  essayist,  on  the  other  hand,  appears 
late  in  the  field  because  his  function  is  not 
to  give  order  and  splendor  to  a  race  move- 
ment, to  exhibit  the  individual  in  collision 
with  the  laws  of  life  or  the  institutions  of 
society,  to  put  into  musical  speech  the  emo- 
tions or  longings  of  his  own  heart,  to  make 


264  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

stirring  or  beguiling  romances  and  tales  out 
of  the  possibilities  of  human  intercourse  and 
fortune ;  but  to  meditate  upon  what  men 
have  accomplished,  endured,  suffered  and 
become  in  order  to  frame  an  informal  philo- 
sophy, to  announce  a  body  of  precepts,  to 
bring  out  curious  or  significant  traits  of 
character,  to  set  in  humorous  light  the  in- 
congruities, the  surprises  and  the  paradoxes 
of  human  destiny.  The  sculptor  cannot 
work  without  marble,  and  it  has  been  noted 
that  the  creative  centres  of  this  noble  art 
have  never  been  far  from  quarries.  The 
essayist  cannot  distill  the  wisdom  of  life 
until  he  has  a  considerable  accumulation  of 
the  material  of  experience  to  work  upon. 
He  presupposes  a  certain  fullness  of  develop- 
ment, a  certain  ripeness  of  civilization,  a  cer- 
tain growth  of  culture.  He  need  not  be 
less  original  than  his  fellow  craftsmen,  but 
the  form  he  uses  appears  later  in  literary 
development.  The  essayist  has  no  place  in 
primitive  society ;  no  voice  in  early  litera- 
ture ;  he  is  the  product  of  a  riper  age ; 
he  comes  after  the  poet,  the  dramatist,  the 
story-teller  and  the  historian,  not  because  he 
is  an  imitator   but   because  he  needs   their 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  265 

work  as  part  of  the  material  with  which  he 
deals. 

If  the  essayist  has  a  forerunner  it  is  the 
maker  of  the  proverb ;  the  man  who  puts 
wisdom  into  portable  shape  by  packing  the 
final  results  of  experience  into  a  phrase. 
But  the  proverb-maker  is,  as  a  rule,  the  mas- 
ter of  a  very  limited  field  of  observation ; 
he  runs  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  con- 
cerned to  discover  the  secrets  of  purely  ma- 
terial success.  His  wisdom  is  often  preemi- 
nently useful,  but  it  is  rarely  profound, 
searching  or  illuminating.  The  proverbs 
with  which  Don  Quixote  is  so  thickly  sown 
set  off  the  idealism  of  the  one  of  the  great 
gentlemen  in  literature  quite  as  effectively 
as  the  burly  figure  and  coarse  sense  of  San- 
cho  Panza.  It  is  noticeable  that  when  the 
sayings  of  Poor  Richard  take  a  moral  turn 
it  is  for  practical  ends.  The  essayist,  on 
the  other  hand,  delights  in  keen  and  clear 
perceptions  of  the  ways  of  men  and  the  re- 
lation of  success  or  failure  to  character ;  but 
his  wisdom  is  only  incidentally  prudential ; 
he  is  not  intent  upon  protecting  men  from 
their  vices,  their  follies,  and  their  mistakes 
by  furnishing  them  with  a  portable  wisdom 


266  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

in  the  form  of  maxims  illustrative  of  the 
value  of  honesty,  temperance,  industry,  and 
thrift ;  he  is  intent  upon  seeing  character 
for  the  interest  of  seeing  it,  upon  discover- 
ing the  interior  relations  of  things  because 
that  discovery  explains  their  outward  forms, 
upon  divining  the  humors  of  life  and  the 
secrets  of  fate  because  both  satisfy  the  crav- 
ing for  refreshment  or  for  truth. 

The  essay,  as  compared  with  the  epic 
poem,  the  novel,  or  the  history,  is  brief. 
Expanded  beyond  certain  limits  it  inevita- 
bly becomes  another  form  of  literature.  It 
is  not  always  easy  to  mark  its  limits ;  but 
they  are  readily  seen  in  their  concrete  illus- 
tration. Macaulay's  essays  may  deal  as 
definitely  with  historical  events  and  persons 
as  his  history  ;  but  the  perspective  of  events 
is  foreshortened,  the  narrative  is  condensed, 
the  principle  of  selection  of  events  is  more 
rigidly  applied,  and  interest  is  fastened,  not 
upon  the  main  current,  but  upon  some  side 
current  or  eddy,  upon  some  significant  in- 
cident or  figure.  The  essay  is  short,  not  be- 
cause the  material  is  limited  or  the  power  of 
the  essayist  unequal  to  fuller  or  more  com- 
plete discussion;   but  because  the  function 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  267 

o£  the  essay  is  to  bring  into  clear  light  a 
single  truth  or  a  group  of  closely  related 
truths,  a  single  character  or  a  set  of  kindred 
characters,  a  single  aspect  or  phase  of  a 
great  movement.  The  essayist  often  has  a 
complete  view  of  life  behind  his  brief  and 
condensed  reports  or  comments.  Emerson's 
essays  might  have  been  woven  together  into 
a  philosophical  exposition  ;  Carlyle's  essays 
constitute  a  fairly  complete  body  of  spiritual 
doctrine,  and  might  have  been  converted 
into  history  or  theology ;  but  in  such  a  trans- 
formation the  distinctively  literary  element 
would  have  been  greatly  reduced  if  not  alto- 
gether lost. 

This  fact  may  bring  us  to  the  chief  charac- 
teristic of  the  essay ;  it  is  not  only  a  com- 
ment, a  view  of  things,  it  is  also  a  piece  of 
literature.  The  essayist  is  an  artist ;  one 
who,  possibly  by  instinct  at  the  start,  cer- 
tainly by  intelligence  later,  selects,  arranges, 
and  so  disposes  his  materials  as  to  give  them 
the  highest  effectiveness,  the  greatest  charm, 
or  the  most  searching  power.  The  true 
essay  is  as  distinctly  a  work  of  art  as  the 
epic  or  dramatic  poem,  the  novel  or  the  lyric. 
And  that  which  gives  it  the  quality  of  art  is, 


268  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

of  course,  form,  but  form  always  as  an  ex- 
pression of  personality.  The  historian  and 
the  philosophical  writer  obliterate  themselves ; 
the  essayist  emphasizes  himself.  He  may 
deal  with  the  facts  of  history  or  the  princi- 
ples of  philosophy,  as  Macaulay  on  the  one 
hand  and  Carlyle  and  Emerson  on  the  other, 
were  continually  doing ;  but  he  is  not  con- 
tent to  set  facts  or  principles  in  logical 
order ;  he  must  give  them  vitality,  organic 
relation,  suggestiveness,  beauty.  He  is  not 
a  recorder ;  he  is  an  artist,  and  it  is  the  ne- 
cessity of  his  nature  that  facts  or  principles 
shall  be  interpreted  from  his  point  of  view, 
arranged  in  harmony  with  the  law  of  his 
mind,  set  forth  with  all  the  subtle  harmonies 
or  the  compelling  force  of  that  free  and  char- 
acteristic expression  of  himself  which  we  call 
style. 

The  essay  is  essentially  a  study  of  a  sub- 
ject or  person.  It  does  not  attempt  a  com- 
plete treatment,  a  portraiture  which  brings 
to  the  eye  every  detail  of  feature ;  it  seeks 
rather  to  catch  and  report  an  expression 
which  is  significant  of  temperament,  an  atti- 
tude which  discloses  character.  It  is  not 
concerned  to  tell  the  whole  story,  but  only 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  269 

such  part  of  it  as  seems  most  dramatic,  sug- 
gestive, or  humorous.  The  earlier  portrait 
painters  conscientiously  brought  in  every 
minute  detail  of  feature  and  every  accessory 
of  dress ;  they  not  only  completed  their  work, 
but  they  idealized  it.  They  seemed  to  think 
that  the  unadorned  truth  was  not  only  dis- 
loyal to  art,  but  not  quite  respectful  to  their 
subjects.  Hence  the  extraordinary  beauty 
of  the  men  and  women  of  the  old  regime  in 
France,  of  the  time  of  Charles  II.,  of  the 
last  century,  as  we  find  them  on  the  walls 
of  the  galleries.  The  founders  of  our  own 
state,  our  earlier  men  of  letters,  our  older 
social  leaders,  shared  in  the  same  good  for- 
tune. Wherever  nature  failed  them  art 
came  to  their  rescue.  The  contemporary 
painter  has  gone  to  the  other  extreme ;  he 
is  intent  upon  getting  at  the  character  and 
making  it  tell  its  story  on  his  canvas,  indif- 
ferent to  the  quality  or  interest  or  charm 
of  that  story.  He  is  concerned  to  represent 
the  basal  elements  in  the  face;  to  get  the 
foundation  before  the  eye.  When  he  has 
seized  the  character  he  is  indifferent  to  de- 
tail; he  is  sketchy  where  his  predecessor  was 
exact  and  elaborate.     Hence  the  marvelous 


270  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

veracity  of  many  modern  portraits  and  their 
extraordinary  ugliness.  When  the  artist  has 
the  gift  of  representing  a  man  not  as  he 
looks  but  as  he  is,  unpleasant  revelations  are 
inevitable.  Of  Watts'  portrait  Carlyle 
writes :  "  Decidedly  the  most  insufferable 
picture  that  has  yet  been  made  of  me,  a 
delirious-looking  mountebank,  full  of  vio- 
lence, awkwardness,  atrocity,  and  stupidity, 
without  recognizable  likeness  to  anything  I 
have  ever  known  in  any  feature  of  me." 
There  is  something  of  Carlyle  in  it,  neverthe- 
less. In  like  manner  the  essayist  is  concerned 
not  to  present  a  subject  or  a  person  with 
complete  delineation,  but  in  an  attitude  or 
expression  which  is  significant  and  character- 
istic. 

In  Mr.  Pater's  sketch  of  Montaigne  the 
background  of  Literature  —  that  rich  deposit 
and  accumulation  of  past  life  —  is  brought 
into  clear  view  ;  but  the  chief  emphasis  falls, 
where  it  belongs,  on  the  essayist  himself. 
Even  in  his  most  impersonal  moods  the  es- 
sayist, like  the  poet  and  the  novelist,  is  the 
chief  factor  in  his  work.  Plutarch,  Cicero, 
and  Bacon  discuss  the  gravest  problems  of 
experience  in  a  philosophic  temper ;  but  the 


ESSAY  AND   CRITICISM  271 

attitude  of  each  writer  toward  these  problems 
is  intensely  individual.  This  individuality  is 
revealed  in  the  selection  of  subjects,  the 
massing  of  facts,  the  choice  of  illustration 
and  example,  the  ethical  applications,  the 
manner  and  style.  It  is  with  morals  as 
Plutarch  understands  them,  with  friendship 
and  old  age  as  Cicero  regards  them,  with 
honors,  station,  empire  as  Bacon  values  them, 
that  we  are  concerned  when  we  open  the 
pages  of  these  essayists  of  the  most  serious 
temper.  Absorbed  as  he  appears  to  be  in 
the  gravity  of  his  themes,  and  intent  upon 
bringing  out  their  significance  in  an  imper- 
sonal way.  Bacon's  temperament  becomes  as 
distinct  in  our  consciousness  before  we  have 
done  with  the  essays  as  Charles  Lamb's  or 
De  Quincey's.  For  in  the  essay,  as  in  any 
work  of  art,  the  quaHty,  the  charm,  that 
which  lives,  come  from  the  personahty  of 
the  artist.  This  is  the  chief  factor;  the 
materials  with  which  he  deals  are  open  to 
all  men  ;  they  are  common  property ;  it  is 
the  method  of  selection,  combination,  and 
expression  which  counts.  If  we  want  the 
bare  fact,  we  go  to  history  or,  with  discrim- 
ination, to  the  newspaper  j  if  we  want  the 


272  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

logical  statement  of  principles,  we  go  to  phi- 
losophy ;  if  we  want  the  truth  below  the  fact 
as  a  man  of  genius  divines  it,  the  truth 
touched  with  beauty  as  it  lies  in  the  vision  of 
the  artist,  or  irradiated  with  humor  and  pro- 
jected against  a  background  of  other  and 
diverse  truth,  as  the  humorist  sees  it,  we 
turn  to  literature.  In  the  essay  we  get  a 
glimpse  of  character,  a  turn  of  humor,  a 
significant  aspect  of  affairs,  interpenetrated 
by  a  rich  personality. 

It  may  be  well,  too,  to  recall  one  of  the 
primary  meanings  of  the  word,  and  to  remind 
ourselves  that  an  essay  is  an  attempt,  a  trial, 
a  test.  It  involves  a  certain  risk,  because 
the  essayist  cannot  count  for  success  on  the 
trustworthiness  and  importance  of  his  facts ; 
in  order  to  succeed  he  must  make  the  telling 
combination  in  the  characteristic  style.  The 
accurate  historian  may  fail  to  attain  the 
quaHty  of  literature  and  yet  become  an 
authority ;  but  if  the  essayist  falls  short  of 
charm  or  grace  or  power  he  falls  like  Luci- 
fer. Every  essay  is,  therefore,  a  trial  or  test 
of  strength  or  ease,  and  the  essayist  must 
find  his  charm  and  his  power  within  him- 
self. 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  273 

"  The  autumnal  wisdom,"  the  "  judgment 
upon  knowledge,"  of  which  Mr.  Pater  speaks, 
begin  to  be  distilled  and  formed  whenever 
meditative  minds  find  a  mass  of  experience 
behind  them.  This  experience  may  not  have 
taken  on  the  form  and  order  of  written  his- 
tory ;  it  may  be  traditional,  it  may  be  indi- 
cated by  proverbs  passing  from  generation  to 
generation  along  the  obscure  paths  by  which 
homely  wisdom  travels  from  race  to  race. 
In  some  form  it  must  exist,  and  it  never 
comes  into  being  until  a  fairly  advanced  stage 
of  development  has  been  reached.  Men  do 
not  attempt  to  rationalize  experience  until 
they  have  come  to  some  degree  of  spiritual 
self-consciousness.  The  Hebrew  mind  was 
not  primarily  an  artistic  mind,  although 
creative  on  the  very  highest  plane  and  along 
the  sublimest  lines.  It  was  concerned  pri- 
marily with  truth  rather  than  with  the  expres- 
sion of  truth.  The  historian,  the  poet,  the 
rhapsodist,  the  psalmist,  the  prophet,  appear 
in  rapid  succession  in  Hebrew  literature; 
but  the  essayist  hardly  finds  his  place  there. 
Indeed,  until  Professor  Moulton  restored  ex- 
perimentally its  literary  form  to  the  Bible, 
the  essay  was  probably  found  in  its  pages  by 


274  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

very  few  of  its  most  devout  readers.  The 
essayist  is  there,  however,  and  his  work  has 
very  great  interest  because  it  marks  the 
transition  from  proverb-making  to  essay- 
writing  ;  from  the  impersonal  condensation 
of  experience  to  its  expansion  through  the 
introduction  of  the  element  of  temperament 
and  the  literary  sense.  In  this  process  the 
form  of  the  proverb  is  not  only  enlarged,  but 
its  content  of  wisdom  is  immensely  broad- 
ened ;  it  is  no  longer  a  mere  aphorism  of 
prudence,  it  is  a  comment  full  of  spiritual 
discernment;  taking  into  account  the  for- 
tunes of  a  man's  spirit  as  well  as  of  his  body. 
What  could  be  finer  in  its  insight  or  more 
compact  in  wisdom  and  form  than  these 
familiar  and  yet  unfamiliar  words  :  — 

"  Wisdom  exalteth  her  sons,  and  taketh  hold  of 
them  that  seek  her.  He  that  loveth  her  loveth  life ; 
and  they  that  seek  her  early  shall  be  filled  with  glad- 
ness. He  that  holdeth  her  fast  shall  inherit  glory  ; 
and  where  he  entereth,  the  Lord  will  bless.  They  that 
do  her  service  shall  minister  to  the  Holy  One ;  and 
them  that  love  her  the  Lord  doth  love.  He  that  giveth 
ear  unto  her  shall  judge  the  nations  ;  and  he  that 
giveth  heed  unto  her  shall  dwell  securely.  If  he  trust 
her,  he  shall  inherit  her ;  and  his  generations  shall 
have  her  in  possession.  For  at  the  first  she  will  walk 
with  him  in   crooked  ways,  and  will  bring  fear   and 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  275 

dread  upon  him,  and  torment  him  with  her  discipline, 
until  she  may  trust  his  soul,  and  try  him  by  her  judg- 
ments :  then  will  she  return  again  the  straight  way 
unto  him,  and  will  gladden  him,  and  reveal  to  him  her 
secrets.  If  he  go  astray,  she  will  forsake  him,  and 
give  him  over  to  his  fall." 

This  is  not  a  paragraph  torn  from  a  philo- 
sophical discussion ;  it  is  a  piece  of  true 
literature.  It  has  the  ripe  touch  of  true 
"  autumnal  wisdom ;  "  that  wisdom  which  is 
the  most  precious  deposit  of  the  large  experi- 
ence and  wide  observation  ;  that  "  judgment 
upon  knowledge "  which  cannot  be  formed 
or  pronounced  until  a  great  field  has  been 
traversed  and  explored.  It  is  very  brief,  and 
yet  within  narrow  limits  it  brings  a  man  face 
to  face  with  one  of  the  deepest  truths  of  liv- 
ing ;  it  is  condensed  and  it  deals  with  prin- 
ciples, and  yet  it  is  as  concrete  in  its  way  as 
the  Psalms  of  David  or  the  Book  of  Job. 
Wisdom  is  presented  not  as  an  abstraction 
but  as  a  person  ;  she  does  not  send  invisible 
influences  to  a  man  at  long  intervals;  she 
walks  beside  him,  guiding  or  forsaking  him 
at  his  will,  in  real  flesh  and  blood  companion- 
ship. Here  is  not  only  truth  but  a  person- 
ality ;  and  here,  consequently,  is  an  essay 
and  one  of  the  earliest  and  most  significant. 


276  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

In  literature  of  such  duration  and  scope  as 
the  Greek  and  Latin,  registering  all  the 
stages  o£  racial  development  from  the  earliest 
hymns  to  the  gods  to  those  terrible  satires 
which  mark  not  only  the  decline  of  the 
human  but  the  passing  of  the  divine,  the 
essay  is  found  in  clear  and  characteristic 
although  not  in  fully  developed  form.  In 
the  masters  of  the  classic  essay  —  Plutarch, 
Seneca,  Cicero  —  the  element  of  personality 
is  distinct  and  organic,  but  it  is  subordinate 
to  the  material.  Emphasis  rests  on  the  truth 
rather  than  the  presentation  of  the  truth ; 
so  far  as  he  can  the  writer  conceals  himself 
behind  his  art ;  for  the  classical  method  was 
as  consistently  objective  as  the  nature  of  the 
artist,  always  craving  expression,  permitted. 
There  is  very  little  exaggeration  of  statement 
or  eccentricity  of  opinion  ;  there  is  a  balance, 
moderation,  and  poise  which  betray  the  in- 
fluence of  a  general  agreement  concerning 
the  function  of  the  writer.  The  force  of 
organized  traditional  opinion,  which  has  dis- 
closed in  French  literature  its  value  and  its 
weakness,  is  steadily  brought  to  bear  to  keep 
the  genius  of  the  individual  well  within  the 
bounds   of   recognized  order.     There  is  no 


ESSAY  AND   CRITICISM  277 

license  of  individuality  among  the  classical 
essayists ;  they  are  weighty,  serious,  dignified. 
They  are  not  hampered,  because  they  have  no 
desire  to  be  other  than  they  are  or  to  do  other 
than  they  do ;  but  we  feel  as  if  we  were  get- 
ting the  most  out  of  their  subjects  but  not  out 
of  them.  We  are  in  closer  touch  with  Plu- 
tarch in  the  Lives  than  in  the  Morals ;  we 
are  nearer  Cicero  in  the  Orations  than  in  the 
Meditations  on  friendship  or  old  age. 

The  background  of  experience  or  truth  is 
more  prominent  than  the  personality  of  the 
essayist  in  the  older  essay  ;  it  was  the  special 
function  of  the  essay  in  its  modern  form  to 
shift  the  emphasis  to  the  writer  and  to  give 
personality  its  freest  play.  Modern  literature, 
in  the  sense  of  complete  and  perfectly  authen- 
ticated work,  may  almost  be  said  to  begin 
with  Montaigne,  whose  name  is  more  com- 
pletely identified  with  the  essay  than  any 
other  in  literary  history,  and  whose  mind  was 
perhaps  as  typical  and  representative  as  any 
that  has  ever  chosen  this  form  of  expression.r 
Bacon  was  a  philosopher,  a  lawyer,  and  a 
statesman ;  Carlyle  was  a  historian ;  Charles 
Lamb  was  a  critic  ;  but  Montaigne  was  never 
other  than  an  essayist.     The  form  fitted  his 


278  ESSAY  AND   CRITICISM 

temperament  completely;  he  loved  a  wide  and 
rich  discursiveness ;  he  touched  at  all  ports, 
and  he  never  overstayed  his  first  fresh  im- 
pressions. He  charged  Aristotle  with  having 
an  oar  in  every  water  and  meddling  with  all 
things ;  but  compared  with  Montaigne,  the 
philosopher  was  a  dweller  at  the  fireside. 
Montaigne's  interest  and  curiosity  carried 
him  everywhere.  That  keen  skeptical  tem- 
per of  his  made  him  one  of  the  closest  of 
observers,  but  did  not  permit  him  to  linger 
long  at  any  place.  He  was  a  born  traveler, 
and  the  traveler  does  not  live  with  people  or 
subjects,  or  surrender  himself  to  the  work  of 
mastering  a  single  field ;  he  enjoys,  studies, 
records,  and  passes  on ;  he  uses  the  philoso- 
phers and  is  often  on  their  ground,  but  he  is 
not  one  of  them ;  he  sees  for  a  certain  dis- 
tance eye  to  eye  with  the  moralists,  but  he 
also  sees  many  things  which  escape  them. 
He  had  no  final  system  of  things ;  he  was 
persuaded  that  the  finalities  were  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  mind  in  its  present  stage ;  he 
thought  many  questions  insoluble,  and  he  was 
not  made  unhappy  by  the  discovery.  He 
did  not  reject  the  Absolute,  but  he  regarded 
it  as   beyond   his  comprehension  and  gave 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  279 

himself  up  with  eager  dehght  to  the  study  of 
the  Relative ;  he  was,  accordingly,  not  deep 
and  prophetic ;  he  was  inquisitive,  fertile, 
rich  in  immediate  resources,  ripe  in  "judg- 
ment upon  knowledge."  He  went  through 
life,  not  with  a  profound  sense  of  obligation 
and  responsibility,  but  with  consuming  and 
contagious  interest.  He  covers  an  immense 
surface.  To  a  mind  of  this  quaUty  the  essay 
was  exactly  adapted,  and  Montaigne  remains 
its  typical  master. 

It  is  easy  to  recall  him  because  he  painted 
his  own  portrait  almost  as  often  as  Rembrandt. 
Low  in  stature,  strongly  built,  slow  of  speech 
thouo^h  full  of  thouorht ;  retirinof  from  the 
practice  of  law  at  Bordeaux  at  the  age  of 
thirty-eight,  and  settling  himself  on  his 
estate  in  P^rigord  in  order  that  he  might  live 
his  own  life  and  nourish  his  own  thoughts ; 
a  practical  farmer ;  an  uncompromising  truth- 
teller  and  fair-dealer  in  all  things ;  letting 
his  doors  stand  wide  when  other  houses  were 
closed  and  garrisoned  like  forts;  sowing 
deep  the  seeds  of  confidence  and  respect  in 
his  own  neighborhood  ;  a  man  of  pleasure 
and  a  more  than  easy  Hver  turned  student ; 
alone  much  of  the  time  in  his   tower;   his 


280  ESSAY  AND   CRITICISM 

books  about  him,  his  eye  ceaselessly  searching 
history  and  his  own  time ;  at  home  in  the 
world  and  frankly  of  it ;  looking  with  a 
lenient  eye  on  all  phases  of  human  life,  but 
holding  steadily  to  absolute  integrity  ;  plain 
of  speech  to  the  verge  of  grossness  and  some- 
times over  the  line,  and  yet  so  frank  and 
honest  withal  that  he  disarms  our  criticism 
when  we  recall  the  men  for  whom  and  the 
time  in  which  he  wrote ;  immensely  inter- 
ested in  himself,  his  thoughts,  occupations, 
journeys,  books,  diseases,  and  yet  writing 
over  his  own  name  the  significant  words 
"  Que  scais  je  ?  "  When  a  man  honestly  asks 
himself  "  What  do  I  know  "  he  may  be  a 
good  deal  of  an  egotist  without  losing  his 
poise.  Montaigne  was  not  a  great  man,  as 
Dante  and  Shakespeare  were  great ;  but  he 
was  great  in  breadth  and  variety  of  interest, 
in  the  wisdom  of  clear  sight,  in  continuous 
fertility. 

In  the  characteristic  study  "  Of  Lyers  " 
Montaigne  humorously  confesses  his  defects 
of  memory  and  solaces  himself  with  an 
enumeration  of  compensations.  "  Above  all," 
he  writes,  "  old  men  are  dangerous,  who  have 
only  the  memorie  of  things  past  left  them, 


ESSAY  AND   CRITICISM  281 

and  have  lost  the  remembrance  of  their 
repetitions."  He  escaped  this  peril ;  for  while 
he  is  one  of  the  most  talkative  men  in  litera- 
ture, he  is  never  garrulous.  He  struck  the 
note  of  the  essay  when  he  put  himself  on 
easy  terms  with  the  reader,  laid  aside  the 
formalities  of  the  grand  style,  and  spoke 
directly,  simply,  and  straight  to  the  heart  of 
his  subject.  The  epic  or  dramatic  poet  can- 
not put  off  his  singing  robes,  and  ought  not 
to  make  the  attempt;  the  lyric  poet  must 
keep  his  distance  or  lose  something  of  his 
charm ;  the  historian  and  the  novelist  talk  to 
us,  but  not  with  us ;  the  essayist  alone  puts  us 
in  an  equality  with  himself  and  gains  by  the 
familiarity.  He  is  the  most  friendly  and 
companionable  of  all  the  great  writers  ;  there 
is  nobody  quite  like  him  for  a  dark  day  and 
an  open  fire.  There  are  certain  ceremonies 
to  be  observed  with  Dante  and  Milton ;  it  is 
like  going  to  Court  to  open  the  "  Divine 
Comedy  "  or  "  Paradise  Lost ;  "  and  one  must 
choose  his  hour  for  "  Lear  "  or  "  Faust ; "  but 
when  was  Charles  Lamb  out  of  place,  or 
Addison  de  trop,  or  Alexander  Smith's 
"Dream-thorp"  out  of  key?  The  essayist 
is  on  easy  terms  with  us  from  the  start  because 


282  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

his  interests  and  ours  are  identical ;  he  cares 
for  the  very  things  we  are  always  looking 
for,  —  the  significant,  characteristic,  unusual, 
humorous  things.  He  is  concerned  prima- 
rily with  the  immediate  human  interest  in 
things.  He  is  not  blind  to  ultimate  ends  nor 
indifferent  to  interior  relations ;  he  is  always 
a  philosopher  at  heart ;  but  his  attention  is 
fastened  on  the  illustration  of  every  kind  of 
human  quality.  He  makes  us  see  the  man 
first ;  and  then,  later,  he  may  turn  the  man 
inside  out  if  he  chooses. 

If  Montaigne's  memory  was  weak,  he  re- 
enforced  it  with  the  memory  of  the  race ;  no 
man  draws  his  incidents  from  a  wider  field. 
He  set  the  fashion,  followed  to  Miss  Rep- 
plier's  time,  of  getting  the  strength  out  of 
quotations  by  setting  them  in  a  new  order 
and  furnishing  them  with  a  fuller  context. 
The  sturdy  Gascon,  who  professed  not  to 
love  reading  and  declared  that  an  hour's 
unbroken  companionship  with  a  book  was 
enough,  was  on  the  most  intimate  terms  with 
Plutarch  and  the  classics;  but  they  were 
terms  of  equality,  and  he  gave  as  much  as  he 
took.  It  is  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune 
to  be  intelligently  quoted ;   it  is  the  highest 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  283 

kind  of  recognition,  and  it  gives  one  the 
advantage  of  having  light  flashed  upon  his 
thought  from  a  different  quarter. 

Montaigne  had  the  older  world  behind 
him,  and  the  newer  world  about  him  he 
studied  with  a  keen  eye ;  he  was  rich  there- 
fore in  "  autumnal  wisdom."  Emerson 
makes  him  describe  himself  as  gray  and 
autumnal.  But  that  which  gives  the  essays 
their  flavor  and  quality  is  not  the  richness 
of  their  background,  but  the  vigorous,  free, 
frank  personality  of  the  essayist,  the  first  of 
the  great  egotists  in  literature.  The  classical 
attitude  is  reversed  ;  the  first  modern  essayist 
is  as  much  concerned  with  himself  as  was 
Rousseau  or  Byron.  "I  confess  myself  in 
public,"  he  wrote.  "  I  have  no  other  end 
in  writing  but  to  discover  myself."  "  If  the 
world  find  fault  that  I  speak  too  much  of 
myself,  I  find  fault  that  they  do  not  so  much 
as  think  of  themselves."  There  was  no  plan 
in  the  work  ;  he  wrote  only  when  the  humor 
was  on  him  and  concerning  things  which 
interested  him.  He  did  not,  apparently,  take 
his  readers  into  account ;  he  felt  no  responsi- 
bility towards  them.  He  proposed  nothing 
more  ambitious  than  a  record  of  his  thoughts, 


284  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

impressions,  habits,  tastes,  judgments,  and 
feelings.  He  had  much  to  say  about  the 
world,  but  only  at  the  points  at  which  it 
touched  him.  His  success  lies  in  the  fact 
that  his  personality  was  so  interesting,  and 
that  his  confession  has  such  frankness,  vigor, 
reality.  The  older  essayists  had  described 
the  world  as  detached  from  themselves ;  he 
described  it  as  it  made  room  for  him,  re- 
flected him,  gave  him  food  for  thought. 
There  is  nothing  so  interesting  to  man  as  a 
man,  and  men  are  rarely  seen  in  clear  light. 
This  man  turned  the  searchlight  of  his  pene- 
trating mind  full  upon  himself.  He  took 
the  world  into  his  confidence,  and  the  world 
has  not  betrayed  him. 

Bacon,  on  the  other  hand,  treated  the 
world  with  grave  courtesy,  but  did  not  put 
himself  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  it.  Neither 
his  matter  nor  his  manner  invites  familiarity. 
When  Lord  Burleigh  put  off  his  official  robes 
he  said  "  Lie  there.  Lord  Chancellor ; "  glad, 
apparently,  of  an  easy  return  to  his  natural 
station.  Bacon  never  lays  aside  the  grand 
manner ;  he  always  wears  his  robes.  No 
element  in  his  life  is  more  tragic  than  the 
contrast  between  the  habitual  dignity  of  his 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  285 

bearing  and  the  occasional  littleness  of  his 
action.  That  there  were  strains  of  greatness 
in  him  is  beyond  question ;  such  strains  as 
are  constantly  heard  in  his  essays  do  not 
issue  from  hollow  natures.  If  Montaigne 
loved  to  gossip  about  matters  of  all  degrees 
of  importance,  Bacon  loved  to  invest  every 
subject  he  touched  with  the  gravity  of  far- 
reaching  relationships,  or  with  a  dignity  of 
approach  which  was  like  a  royal  progress. 
Montaigne's  autumnal  wisdom  was  distilled 
from  knowledge  of  the  most  trifling  as  well 
as  of  the  most  momentous  things;  Bacon's 
judgment  upon  knowledge  was  accumulated, 
apparently,  by  habitual  contact  with  the  most 
far-reaching  themes.  Both  essayists  possess 
in  a  preeminent  degree  that  final  and  higher 
product  of  knowledge  which  we  call  wisdom ; 
but  Bacon's  principle  of  selection  was  far 
more  rigid  than  Montaigne's.  The  Gascon 
entertained  himself  with  "  all  sorts  and  con- 
ditions of  men ; "  the  Englishman  associated 
only  with  the  great.  He  is,  therefore,  nar- 
rower in  range  than  his  great  predecessor, 
and  his  human  interest  is  less.  No  one  comes 
in  contact  with  Bacon  without  receiving  a 
deep  impression  of  his  power,  but  it  is  safe 


286  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

to  say  that  his  readers  do  not  love  him. 
They  are  somewhat  in  awe  of  him.  Mon- 
taigne has  a  rich  background,  but  he  keeps 
himself  easily  in  the  fore  ;  he  is  the  central 
figure  and  dominates  the  subject.  Bacon,  on 
the  other  hand,  withdraws  himself  and  puts 
us  in  direct  contact  with  his  themes  and  his 
thought.  In  Montaigne  personality  is  the 
chief  element  of  charm  and  interest ;  in 
Bacon  the  compelling  power  resides  in  a 
noble  treatment  of  great  matters.  Bacon's 
personal  contribution  to  his  work  is  the 
quality  of  his  mind,  the  affinities  of  his 
thought,  revealed  in  his  selection  of  themes, 
and  the  greatness  of  his  manner.  There  is 
little  egotism  ;  there  is  rather  the  disposition 
to  leave  the  stage  clear  for  the  actors.  The 
bare  list  of  Bacon's  topics  has  an  educa- 
tional quality,  — "Of  Death,"  "Of  Great 
Place,"  "Of  Empire,"  "Of  Ambition," 
"Of  Honour  and  Reputation,"  "Of  the 
True  Greatness  of  Kingdoms  and  Estates." 

Not  only  is  the  manner  on  a  level  with  the 
themes,  but  Bacon's  attitude  towards  his  art 
has  the  same  elevation.  The  second  half  of 
his  title  is  significant  of  his  purpose :  "  Es- 
says or  Counsels  Civill  and  Morall."     He  was 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  287 

not  intent,  as  was  Montaigne,  to  touch  the 
things  that  interested  him  and  to  draw,  with 
a  thousand  apparently  careless  strokes,  his 
own  portrait ;  he  set  himself  to  transform  the 
wisdom  of  knowledge  into  the  wisdom  of  life 
by  continually  applying  this  wisdom  to  great 
affairs  of  conduct  and  public  action.  "  The 
greatest  trust,  between  man  and  man,"  he 
writes,  "  is  the  Trust  of  Giving  Counsell. 
For  in  other  Confidences,  Men  commit  the 
parts  of  life ;  Their  Lands,  their  Goods,  their 
Children,  their  Credit,  some  particular  Af- 
faire ;  But  to  such,  as  they  make  their  Coun- 
sellours,  they  commit  the  whole :  By  how 
much  the  more,  they  are  obliged  to  all  Faith 
and  integrity.  The  wisest  Princes,  need  not 
think  it  any  diminution  to  their  Greatness, 
or  derogation  to  their  Sufficiency,  to  rely 
upon  Counsell.  God  himselfe  is  not  with- 
out ;  But  hath  made  it  one  of  the  great 
Names,  of  his  blessed  Sonne ;  The  Counsel- 
lourT 

And  however  lacking  in  faith  he  may  have 
been  in  other  matters,  in  his  dealings  with 
his  readers  Bacon  never  violates  his  trust. 
In  no  other  kindred  body  of  writing  is 
there  more  weight  of  thought,  more  concen- 


288  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

tration  of  intellectual  power,  or  loftier  dig- 
nity of  manner.  In  a  certain  noble  eloquence 
the  essays  have  never  been  surpassed ;  if  they 
have  not  the  long  organ  roll  of  Milton's  and 
Hooker's  prose,  they  have  the  same  massive 
quality  touched  and  vivified  by  imagination. 
Bacon  meditates  upon  the  greatest  affairs 
and  studies  conduct  in  its  relation  to  the  high- 
est fortunes  of  men  ;  Addison,  the  master  of 
another  kind  of  judgment  upon  knowledge, 
notes  the  quality  and  signs  of  social  inter- 
course. He  is  the  interpreter  and  censor  of 
the  age  in  English  life  which  saw  the  birth 
of  society  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word ; 
men  were  drawing  together  as  a  reaction  from 
excessive  individualism  in  religion,  morals, 
politics,  and  art,  and  because  they  were  begin- 
ning to  discern  the  resources  of  life  as  these 
are  multiplied  and  heightened  by  intimacy 
and  fellowship.  Coffee-houses,  taverns,  clubs, 
assemblies,  were  bringing  men  into  the  city ; 
the  language  was  rapidly  adapting  itself  to 
the  uses  of  a  polished  society  ;  it  was  gaining 
in  lucidity,  proportion,  ease,  flexibility,  and 
simplicity.  The  novel,  which  is  the  charac- 
teristic literary  product  of  men  in  society, 
came  to  swift  maturity.     In  such  a  time  the 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  289 

essay  became  a  natural  and  inevitable  form 
of  speech,  perfectly  adapted  to  the  habits  of 
the  age,  and  admirably  suited  to  the  work 
of  satire,  correction,  criticism,  and  entertain- 
ment. For  half  a  century  almost  every  writer 
of  power  tried  his  hand  at  it,  but  Addison  re- 
mains the  master  of  the  essay  of  manners  and 
of  society.  Never  has  a  teacher  worn  a 
more  winning  aspect ;  never  has  a  judge  pro- 
nounced sentence  with  a  more  sympathetic 
insight  into  the  experience  of  the  convicted. 
With  all  his  stateHness  of  manner,  and  in 
the  face  of  the  tradition  of  reserve  and  cold- 
ness which  has  grown  up  and  inclosed  him 
like  a  hedge  of  thorns,  Addison  was  one  of 
the  most  human  of  humans.  His  touch  is 
light  because  it  is  kind ;  his  manner  is  full 
of  charm  because  he  was  full  of  sweetness ; 
his  courtesy  is  always  suggesting  the  near 
presence  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  because 
he  was  so  near  of  kin  to  the  second  of  the 
great  gentlemen  in  Hterature.  In  his  hands 
the  essay  is  seen  in  perfection  of  form ;  it 
is  brief ;  it  deals  with  matters  instinct  with 
human  interest ;  it  is  skillfully  compounded 
of  observation,  insight,  humor  and  judg- 
ment ;   it  is  touched  with  the   charm   of   a 


Sc> 


290  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

delightful   personality   expressed  in  a  style 
full  of  character  and  distinction. 

Bacon  dealt  with  affairs  of  state  and  with 
conduct  in  relation  to  destiny  ;  Addison  with 
men  in  social  relations ;  Charles  Lamb  deals 
with  individual  eccentricity,  idiosyncrasy,  and 
humor,  and  with  the  pathos  and  contradic- 
tions of  hfe.  In  his  hands  the  essay  becomes 
as  personal  as  it  was  in  the  hands  of  Mon- 
taigne, and  as  full  of  individuality,  but  his 
egotism  is  that  of  a  very  sensitive,  tender, 
and  sympathetic  nature,  with  a  genius  for 
quaintnesses  of  all  kinds,  for  the  discovery 
of  forgotten  or  neglected  human  traits,  for 
the  sweetness  which  often  lies  at  the  heart  of 
eccentricity  and  the  sacredness  which  some- 
times hides  itself  behind  oddity  and  excess. 
Lamb's  mind  was  a  rich  storehouse  of  literary 
knowledge,  and  the  discursiveness  of  his  style 
was  largely  due  to  the  breadth  of  his  interests 
and  information.  He  could  be  one  of  the  san- 
est of  critics  or  he  could  be  as  willful  and  fan- 
ciful as  Donne ;  he  could  match  the  gravity 
and  eloquence  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  or  he  could 
be  as  extravagant  and  irresponsible  as  Thomas 
Love  Peacock.  He  had  at  times  an  old-fash- 
ioned manner  which  carries  one  back   two 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  291 

centuries,  until  some  whimsicality  gives  it 
sudden  and  unmistakable  contemporaneous- 
ness. He  is  at  one  moment  in  line  with  Sir 
Thomas  Browne  and  Marvell,  and  at  another 
he  is  the  most  capricious  of  humorists.  No 
man  can  touch  trivialities  more  lightly  or 
gayly  ;  nor  can  any  man  deal  more  reverently 
and  seriously  with  the  stern  or  tragic  aspects 
of  life.  A  vein  of  the  deepest  sentiment 
runs  side  by  side  with  his  humor,  and  those 
who  love  him  find  a  wonderful  sweetness  not 
only  in  his  lif6  but  in  his  mind.  The  "  Es- 
says of  Elia"  must  always  find  their  place 
with  the  books  of  the  heart.  "  How  could 
I  hate  him  ? "  he  once  answered  in  reply 
to  a  question.  "  Don't  I  know  him  ?  I 
never  could  hate  any  one  I  knew."  This 
note  of  catholicity  is  very  characteristic  of  the 
essays;  it  explains  their  variety,  their  indi- 
vidual charm,  their  appeal  to  the  imagination. 
They  have  this  quality  of  great  literature : 
they  make  us  feel  that  it  is  impossible  to 
treat  them  simply  as  pieces  of  writing.  They 
have  the  intimacy  of  true  literature ;  that  in- 
terior relation  to  our  hearts  which  makes  us 
aware  that  they  must  have  been  true  in  ex- 
perience before  they  were  true  in  art.     The 


292  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

very  genius  of  the  essay  is  revealed  in  them ; 
their  contents  could  not  have  been  committed 
to  any  other  literary  form.  No  other  form 
would  have-  provided  for  such  remoteness  and 
such  familiarity ;  for  such  dignity  and  such 
whimsicality ;  for  such  unexpected  and  yet 
wholly  natural  interblending  of  wisdom  and 
of  humor.  The  essay  as  a  human  document, 
a  record  not  only  of  a  man  of  genius  but 
of  a  human  heart,  has  found  unique  setting 
at  the  hands  of  Lamb. 

The  essays  of  Carlyle  and  of  Emerson  make 
us  aware  of  another  point  of  view ;  they  per- 
ceptibly widen  the  range  of  the  essay  by  the 
new  territory  which  they  bring  within  the 
horizon.  There  is  a  rich  background  behind 
the  work,  or,  rather,  the  mind  of  each  essay- 
ist ;  there  is  a  dominant  personality  in  the 
work  of  both  men,  but  the  field  of  knowledge 
has  suffered  a  great  expansion,  the  autumnal 
wisdom  is  more  inclusive  and  spiritual.  Car- 
lyle's  force  seems  heightened  by  the  very  lim- 
itations of  the  essay,  as  the  current  of  a  river 
rises  into  more  tumultuous  sweep  and  roar 
when  it  leaves  the  broad  channel  and  rushes 
through  a  narrow  gorge  in  the  hills.  Emer- 
son's penetrating  thought,  on  the  other  hand, 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  293 

gains  brilliancy  as  the  stars  become  more 
splendid  when  one  looks  at  them  from  a  nar- 
row place  inclosed  between  projecting  heights. 
One  must  be  a  master  of  the  art  to  pack  a 
thouofht  within  the  confines  of  a  sonnet  and 
yet  evoke  its  complete  suggestiveness ;  and 
one  must  command  the  higher  resources  of 
thought  and  of  speech  to  put  a  philosophy 
into  an  essay ;  set,  like  a  mountain  lake,  so 
high  that  it  has  an  immeasurable  depth  not 
only  for  the  plummet,  but  for  the  shining  of 
the  stars.  In  Carlyle's  portraiture  of  Burns, 
depth,  reality,  and  beauty  are  intensified  by 
the  dimensions  of  the  canvas ;  other  men  have 
studied  the  poet  more  exhaustively  and  painted 
him  with  far  more  fidelity  to  detail  of  feature ; 
but  no  one  has  made  the  man  so  clear  to  us, 
or  given  us  an  impression  so  consistent  and 
adequate.  Carlyle  employs  very  few  effects ; 
he  never  attempts  to  say  many  things  in  an 
essay ;  he  gives  us  one  or  two  reorganizing 
ideas,  —  an  incident,  seen  in  a  sudden  and 
often  lurid  light ;  a  human  face  drawn  with 
marvelous  skill  against  a  grim  background; 
above  all,  he  gives  us  the  impetuosity,  the 
vivid  force,  the  pictorial  genius  of  his  tem- 
perament. 


294  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

Emerson,  on  the  other  hand,  gives  us  a 
succession  of  thoughts  which  appear  to  have 
no  connection,  but  which  are  all  aspects  of 
one  thought ;  for  Emerson  always  sees  the 
world  from  one  point  of  view,  and  the  expert 
reader  can  quickly  uncover  the  formative 
conception  if  he  is  willing  to  postpone  for  a 
little  the  enjoyment  of  the  teasing  surprise 
of  a  swift  and  shining  procession  of  ideas. 
These  thoughts  are  rooted  in  that  larger  ob- 
servation which  the  man  of  genius  is  able  to 
make  of  his  position,  but  they  flash  concen- 
tric rays  on  a  point  so  distant  that  many 
readers  do  not  discern  it.  Emerson's  wisdom 
is  never  without  a  touch  of  New  England 
shrewdness,  but  it  is  only  incidentally  pruden- 
tial. Poor  Richard  would  have  found  rich 
pickings  in  him ;  but  Poor  Richard  would 
also  have  found  much  which  would  have 
puzzled  and  disconcerted  him.  In  Emerson 
the  autumnal  wisdom  is  not  only  ripe ;  it  is 
intuitive,  individual,  prophetic.  Nearly  all 
the  wisdom-writers  have  limited  their  vision 
to  the  earthly  fortunes  and  relations  of  the 
soul;  Emerson  deals  with  its  complete  develop- 
ment and  its  universal  relations.  Montaigne 
and  his  fellow  craftsmen  have  found  endless 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  295 

variety  and  interest  in  difference  ;  Emerson 
finds  unfathomable  meaning  and  beauty  in 
identity.  They  break  life  up  into  a  thousand 
prismatic  fragments ;  he  puts  it  together  in 
a  shining  symmetry.  In  "  Works  and  Days  " 
the  essay  reveals  its  full  compass  as  a  literary 
form;  within  its  narrow  limits  there  are 
thoughts  that  run  to  the  ends  of  the  earth, 
and  there  is  beauty  such  as  touches  the  pen 
only  in  the  most  fortunate  hours. 

Criticism  is  so  closely  related  to  the  essay 
that  it  may  be  regarded  as  one  of  its  most 
significant  forms.  A  large  part  of  the  most 
important  comment  upon  and  estimate  of 
the  great  works  of  literature  is  to  be  found 
in  the  essay  form.  Nearly  all  critics  of 
the  first  rank  have  been  essayists — in  our 
own  language  Addison,  Johnson,  Coleridge, 
Lamb,  De  Quincey,  Carlyle,  Arnold,  Lowell, 
Pater,  Hutton,  Whipple,  Stedman;  while 
Sir  Phihp  Sidney's  "Defence  of  Poesy,"  and 
those  prefaces  of  Dryden  and  Wordsworth 
which  are  such  important  documents  in  Eng- 
lish criticism  are  not  only  in  the  essay  form, 
but  reveal  all  the  characteristics  of  the  essay. 
The  chief  foreign  critics  —  Sainte  Beuve, 
Scherer,    Le    Maitre,    Brunetiere,   Brandes, 


296  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

to  select  a  few  representatives  of  a  large 
group  of  accomplished  students  of  literature 
—  are  essayists  whose  work,  apart  from  its 
expository  or  interpretative  quality,  has  great 
charm  and  value  as  literature.  It  is  interest- 
ing to  note  that  many  of  the  critics  of  domi- 
nating influence  have  been  men  of  insight 
rather  than  of  logical  habit  of  mind.  Her- 
der was  an  immense  force  in  the  modern 
critical  movement ;  Coleridge  has  perhaps 
done  more  than  any  other  writer  for  English 
criticism;  Amiel  and  Joubert  were  of  that 
small  group  who  feed  criticism  with  fresh 
ideas;  Goethe's  most  important  insights  into 
the  art  of  literature  found  expression  largely 
in  works  which  are  only  incidentally  critical, 
in  aphorisms  or  maxims,  and  in  conversation. 
There  may  seem,  at  the  first  glance,  some- 
thing of  defect  and  limitation  in  this  discur- 
siveness and  fragmentariness.  Those  who 
must  find  in  art  the  same  formal  logic,  de- 
finiteness,  and  inclusiveness  which  they  find 
in  science  can  hardly  avoid  a  suspicion  of 
superficiality  in  a  treatment  which  seems  so 
partial  and  which  is  so  essentially  unscienti- 
fic in  method.  There  have  been  and  are 
critics  of  the  scientific  habit  of  mind,  who 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  297 

arrive  at  principles  upon  a  strictly  inferential 
basis  ;  who  treat  the  phenomena  of  art  as  the 
scientist  treats  the  phenomena  of  the  natural 
world ;  and  these  critics  have  their  place  and 
their  value  ;  but  an  art  which  draws  its  life 
from  insight,  feeling,  passion,  the  interpre- 
tation of  facts  and  experience  through  per- 
sonality, the  play  of  temperament,  must  find 
its  vital  exposition  through  kindred  qualities. 
There  is  a  flood  of  light  thrown  upon  art 
when  we  approach  it  from  the  standpoint  of 
psychology,  but  art  is  never  touched  where 
it  lives  by  such  an  approach.  Criticism  is 
vital,  penetrative,  luminous,  only  when  it  is 
the  product  of  the  creative  temper.  It  takes 
an  artist  to  catch  an  artist.  The  key  to  the 
work  of  art  is  insight,  not  observation  ;  hence 
the  discursive  quality  of  the  criticism  of  men 
like  Goethe,  Herder,  Joubert,  Coleridge, 
Amiel.  "Almost  all  rich  veins  of  original 
and  striking  speculation,"  says  John  Stuart 
Mill,  "  have  been  opened  by  systematic  half- 
thinkers."  The  half-thinker,  like  Goethe, 
Coleridge,  Carlyle,  and  Emerson,  who  sees 
a  whole-world,  is  often  more  inclusive  and 
creative  than  the  whole-thinker  who  sees  a 
half-world. 


298  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

Criticism  not  only  takes  the  form  of  the 
essay  to  a  very  considerable  extent,  but  it 
involves  a  kindred  ripeness  of  experience. 
It  is  the  product  of  an  age  which  has  at 
least  begun  to  meditate ;  the  touch  of  the 
autumnal  wisdom  is  in  it.  Its  beginnings 
must  be  sought  in  the  examination  and  com- 
parison of  texts.  It  began  in  the  endeavor 
to  cleanse  and  restore  the  form  of  great 
works  ;  it  passed  thence  to  a  full  knowledge 
of  those  works  and  an  inevitable  compari- 
son of  one  with  another ;  it  came  last  to  a 
perception  of  the  nature  of  art,  its  laws  of 
structure,  its  significance  as  a  disclosure  of 
the  human  spirit.  It  presupposes  the  exist- 
ence of  a  body  of  literature  sufficient  in 
quantity  and  important  enough  in  quality  to 
stimulate  and  compel  study  and  comparison  ; 
for  criticism  is  not  a  body  of  abstract  doctrine 
applied  to  artistic  work,  but  a  body  of  prin- 
ciples and  maxims  derived  from  the  study  of 
that  work.  The  possibility  of  art,  the  neces- 
sity of  giving  concrete  expression  to  the 
inner  life,  exists  first  in  the  nature  of  man ; 
takes  form  in  the  works  of  art,  and  finally 
discloses  order,  method,  and  interior  structure 
in  a  body  of  criticism  which  is  the  revelation 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  299 

by  these  works  of  their  secrets  of  structure 
and  form  to  sensitive  minds. 

Textual  study  develops  a  critical  attitude, 
but  it  is  essentially  secondary ;  it  belongs  to 
scholarship  rather  than  to  literature.  Esthe- 
tic criticism,  which  deals  with  the  principles 
and  laws  of  art,  with  beauty  of  form,  with 
the  significance  of  art  as  a  spiritual  expres- 
sion, is  late  in  point  of  time,  but  is  essentially 
creative  work ;  work,  that  is,  which  brings 
a  new  set  of  truths  into  view  in  forms  which 
have  the  touch  of  beauty  and  finality.  The 
famous  comment  of  Goethe  upon  Hamlet,  for 
instance,  is  Hkely  to  live  as  long  as  anything 
in  his  prose  works.  It  is  a  critical  exposi- 
tion, but  it  is  also  a  piece  of  literature.  Car- 
lyle's  study  of  Burns  and  Emerson's  essay  on 
Montaigne  have  places  as  chapters  in  the 
development  of  criticism,  but  they  are  also 
enduring  works  of  literary  art.  "  Criticism 
as  it  was  first  instituted  by  Aristotle,"  says 
Dryden,  "was  meant  a  standard  of  judging 
well ;  the  chief  est  part  of  which  is,  to  observe 
those  excellencies  which  should  delight  a 
reasonable  reader."  Thus  early  was  struck 
the  true  critical  note — the  note  of  sympathy 
and  of  insight;  the  note  struck  again  and 


300  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

again  with  such  resonance  by  Goethe,  who  is 
perhaps  the  first  of  all  critics  of  Hterature. 
The  work  of  judging,  which  was  in  a  way 
the  earliest  function  of  criticism,  remains  one 
of  its  most  important  but  not  its  chief  func- 
tion. The  criticism  of  judgment  must  not 
only  continue,  but  must  increase  in  volume 
in  the  degree  in  which  culture  spreads.  In 
France,  where  the  artistic  sense  is  developed 
by  a  more  general  artistic  education  than  in 
any  other  country,  and  where  the  sense  of 
form  is  accordingly  more  keen  and  general, 
the  art  of  criticism  is  practiced  with  extraor- 
dinary skill  by  a  multitude  of  writers.  And 
this  criticism  has  great  value,  not  for  its 
direct  influence  upon  the  individual  writer, 
but  for  its  educational  influence  upon  readers. 
A  sound  criticism  is,  under  existing  condi- 
tions, a  safeguard  against  inferior  or  un- 
balanced work. 

But  criticism  —  the  judgment  of  works  of 
art  by  comparison  and  by  the  application 
of  principles  disclosed  by  existing  works  of 
art,  —  could  not  rest  in  the  promulgation 
of  judgments ;  it  was  compelled,  by  the  im- 
pulse which  it  received  from  its  material, 
to  broaden  its  range  and  deepen  its  insight. 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  301 

The  moment  the  full  scope  of  the  creative 
activity  disclosed  in  literature  came  into  the 
view  of  a  critical  mind  of  the  highest  order, 
a  new  kind  of  literature  became  inevitable. 
When  the  literature  of  many  races  in  many 
forms  could  be  seen  at  a  glance,  the  unity 
and  significance  of  literature  in  the  life  of 
the  race  took  the  form  of  a  new  conception 
of  literature  itself.  Study  the  lyric,  the 
drama,  the  novel,  the  essay,  in  detachment 
from  one  another,  and  certain  laws  and  meth- 
ods of  structure  reveal  themselves ;  include 
all  these  literary  forms  in  one  comprehensive 
study,  and  literature  in  its  totaKty  takes  on 
the  authority  and  splendor  of  a  revelation  of 
the  soul,  living  its  life  and  working  out  its 
destiny  under  historic  conditions.  The  place 
of  literature  in  history  becomes  clear,  and  its 
relations  to  knowledge  and  life  are  seen  in 
true  perspective. 

"Many  minds  have  contributed  to  the 
working  out  of  what  may  be  called  the  vital, 
as  distinguished  from  the  abstract  idea  of 
history  and  art;  but  we  owe  to  Herder, 
Winckelmann,  Lessing,  and  Goethe  a  lasting 
obligation  for  their  varied  but  harmonious 
exposition  of  this  deep  and  luminous  concep- 


302  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

tion ;  perhaps  the  most  fundamental  and 
characteristic  idea  which  modern  thought 
has  produced.  Winckelmann's  contribution 
to  the  knowledge  of  art  may  be  taken  as  an 
illustration  of  the  general  work  of  these 
thinkers.  Instead  of  looking  at  Greek  sculp- 
ture as  comprising  a  series  of  detached  and 
unrelated  works,  he  discerned  the  unity  and 
harmony  of  these  works  as  expressions  of  a 
single  impulse  or  activity;  more  than  this, 
he  discerned  the  vital  relation  of  sculpture, 
as  the  Greeks  practiced  it,  to  their  genius, 
their  temper,  and  their  hfe.  He  saw  that 
neither  individual  impulse  nor  skill  accounted 
for  Greek  art,  but  that  its  explanation  must 
be  sought  in  the  Greek  nature.  He  saw  that 
the  art  of  sculpture  in  Greek  hands  was  of  a 
piece  with  all  the  other  arts,  and  that  what 
was  characteristic  of  Phidias,  the  sculptor, 
was  also  characteristic  of  Sophocles,  the  poet, 
of  Plato,  the  thinker,  and  of  Pericles,  the 
statesman.  Everything  the  Athenians  did 
in  their  best  years  was  of  a  piece,  and  all 
their  arts  were  so  many  expressions  of  their 
nature.  Elevation,  simplicity,  and  repose 
were  characteristics  common  to  sculptured 
figures,  acted   dramas,   philosophic  specula- 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  303 

tion,  and  practical  statesmanship  ;  sculpture, 
literature,  philosophy,  and  oratory  were, 
therefore,  vitally  related  parts  of  a  complete 
and  harmonious  expression  of  Greek  life, 
and  the  Greek  nature  was  the  soil  in  which 
all  these  beautiful  growths  had  their  root. 
Winckelmann  discerned  the  natural  history 
of  art ;  its  response  to  external  conditions ; 
its  large  dependence  on  soil,  sky,  tempera- 
ment, religion,  political  character;  the  im- 
press of  race  upon  it.  He  saw,  in  a  word, 
the  unity  of  Greek  life  and  history.  He 
put  a  vital  process  in  place  of  an  abstract 
idea,  a  living  organism  in  place  of  unrelated 
products  of  individual  skill. 

"  Herder,  fresh  from  the  study  of  the  Bible, 
of  Shakespeare,  and  of  the  English  ballads, 
approached  the  study  of  history  and  litera- 
ture in  the  same  spirit.  He  put  aside  all 
ideas  of  artificial  production;  he  saw  that 
literature  is  a  natural  growth  ;  that  its  roots 
are  in  the  life  of  man,  and  that  it  responds 
to  the  changing  conditions  of  that  life  as 
swiftly  and  surely  as  vegetation  responds  to 
a  change  of  soil ;  each  soil  nourishing  the 
growth  to  which  it  is  specially  adapted.  The 
significant  word  with  Herder  was  growth  ; 


304  ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM 

because  growth  implies  natural  process  as 
opposed  to  mechanical  process,  spontaneous 
impulse  as  distinguished  from  conscious 
action,  genius  as  contrasted  with  artifice,  and 
the  personality  of  the  writer  as  against 
abstract  ideas.  His  thought  of  what  goes 
to  the  making  of  a  great  work  of  hterature 
is  well  expressed  in  the  words  of  Goethe's : 
*  Everything  that  a  man  undertakes  to  pro- 
duce, whether  by  action,  word,  or  in  whatso- 
ever way,  ought  to  spring  from  the  union  of 
all  his  faculties.'  In  other  words,  a  work 
of  art  is  an  expression  of  a  man's  whole 
nature  and  life ;  something  that  grows  out 
of  him  and  not  something  which  he  puts 
together  with  mechanical  dexterity.  Herder 
discerned  the  natural  history  of  literature, 
its  vital  relation  to  the  life  behind  it,  its  close 
and  inevitable  connection  with  human  history 
and  development.  '  Poetry  in  those  happy 
days,'  he  declared,  *  lived  in  the  ears  of  the 
people,  on  the  lips  and  in  the  harps  of  living 
bards ;  it  sang  of  history,  of  the  events  of 
the  day,  of  mysteries,  miracles,  and  signs. 
It  was  the  flower  of  a  nation's  character, 
language,  and  country;  of  its  occupations, 
its  prejudices,  its  passions,  its  aspirations,  and 


ESSAY  AND  CRITICISM  305 

its  soul/  The  epic  was  *  the  living  history  of 
the  people/  This  view  of  life  and  its  arts  is 
now  familiar  to  us,  but  it  was  strange  and  re- 
volutionary to  the  contemporaries  of  Herder. 
It  involved  a  reconstruction  of  ideas  regard- 
ing art,  and  a  reorganization  of  knowledge. 
The  great  conception  of  society  as  a  develop- 
ment, an  unfolding  under  certain  fixed  con- 
ditions and  laws,  was  implicit  in  it.  Goethe, 
with  his  poetic  sensitiveness  to  the  approach 
of  new  ideas,  and  that  amplitude  of  mind 
which  made  him  hospitable  to  new  truth,  ac- 
cepted the  nature  of  man  as  having  the  autho- 
rity of  a  revelation,  and  refused  to  reject 
any  part  of  it.  In  history,  religion,  art,  and 
literature  he  discerned  the  endeavor  of  the 
soul  to  express  itself,  its  experience,  and  its 
hopes ;  the  natural  history  of  man  is  written 
in  his  works ;  they  all  issue  from  his  life,  and 
together  they  form  the  record  and  disclosure 
of  his  nature."  * 

In  this  view  literature  is  a  product  of  the 
entire  personality  of  the  writer,  and  there- 
fore a  revelation  of  the  human  spirit  in  its 
completeness  and  integrity.  This  conception 
is  the  largest  and  most  important  result  of 

*  Short  Studies  in  Literature. 


306  ESSAY  AND   CRITICISM 

the  critical  movement  in  literature  ;  tlie  most 
significant  product  of  the  study,  not  of  one 
piece  or  form  of  literature  nor  of  the  litera- 
ture of  a  race,  but  of  all  literature.  It  is  the 
disclosure  of  this  truth  and  its  application, 
in  noble  and  beautiful  forms,  which  gives 
criticism  its  highest  authority,  and  transforms 
it  from  a  derivative  into  an  original  and  crea- 
tive art.  It  will  always  study,  compare,  and 
judge ;  but  it  will  also  discover,  reveal,  re- 
fresh, and  liberate. 


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Cambridge t  Mass,  U.S.  A, 


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